History Written in Blood
by imjce
Summary: Set in 1870. The name Rizzoli is a blessing in disguise. They are a family held together by name, but ultimately torn apart by greed. In a lawless town crippled by her family's iron fist, Jane must strive to rise above it all. Dr. Maura Isles plays the game, but where does her loyalty truly lie? In the end, everybody pays their dues. History will be written with their blood.
1. Chapter 1: Sibling Rivalry

**CH 1: Sibling Rivarlry**

 **Warning: offensive language reflective of the time and culture.**

\- o -

The door to the bedroom was locked. The occupants within did not want to be interrupted by anything, or anyone.

The room was spacious. And the surrounding air was stuffy. It smelled of potpourris, and raw sex. It was both pleasurable and maddening; a perfect balance of both worlds.

Jane wasn't in the mood to talk. In one rough tug, Jane tore away her silk robe, and cast the menacing garment aside. Though the thought of sex clouded her mind, Jane couldn't resist as she took a moment to marvel at the beauty beneath her.

Katherine Petrova Pierce was a petite woman with a small face, and soft features. Her long chestnut hair ran well past her shoulders. And her lips, though not full nor luscious, could tame even the wildest of stallions with one kiss. But Katherine's beauty ran well past her physical features. She was brilliant. And had one of the sharpest tongues in town; and she dared speak her mind, unlike other timid women of their time. Jane couldn't bring herself to think of another, much less crave another soul. She was infatuated with Katherine, and downright smitten.

The night was still young.

And Jane wanted Katherine, and she wanted her, now.

Katherine laid on her back, and she withered in delight while Jane's face made a home for itself in her bosoms. Every now and then, Jane could lick, nibble, and even bite at her perky nipples. Katherine loved it when Jane hurt her; the painful stimulation pushed her to new heights. This was a dangerous liaison, for both of them. Katherine was standing in gas, and Jane was the flame that threatened to consume them both.

The appetizer was over, and the main course was up.

With her middle and ring finger, Jane parted flesh from desire, and she entered her with ease. She was met with no resistance. Every stroke and thrust, Jane gave it her all; she arched her back every time she withdrew, and she rammed her hips into Katherine's every time she penetrated. Jane's movements were slow and deliberate, and danced to the tune of their bodies.

The heavy layer of juice that currently covered Jane's digits was an indication of just how hyped and ready Katherine was. Though Jane was wet, and ached oh so painfully, this was about satisfaction, and the desire to touch another. Jane placed Katherine's needs above her own, and it made her all the more wetter.

The bed frame rocked with purpose, and the body danced with desire.

Katherine had her legs wrapped around Jane's torso snuggly, as her delicate core took a most-welcomed pounding. And that's when she grabbed a lock of Jane's raven hair, and she tugged on them savagely; a low growl whispered in the passing.

This wasn't their first time together. Jane could tell Katherine was close; all she needed was that extra nudge to send her off the cliff, and into the blissful abyss.

Jane added an index finger, and she brought them to curl upwards. This wasn't her first rodeo, and Katherine wasn't her first lover. She knew exactly what she was doing. And when she felt Katherine noticeably tighten around her digits, that's when Jane brought her teeth down, and she chomped on her shoulder. The bite was hard. It wasn't a playful bite. Short of drawing blood, the dentures made a lasting mark.

"Oh. Jesus!"

The sudden jolt of pain, mixed with the coarse wave of pleasure, it was unimaginable, and it sent Katherine into a state of euphoric pleasure. She contracted her vaginal walls to press tight against wild fingers; she squeezed out every last ripple. And every time she squeezed, a sensual grunt would escape her dark lips.

Jane brushed a strand of stray hair from Katherine's face, and she kissed her, ever so tenderly, again and again. "I've missed you."

"As have I."

Jane was still inside of her; Katherine pulled their bodies in, and she rolled them over to change positions. It was Katherine that now straddled Jane.

"Where did you learn that?"

"I'll tell you…" Katherine began grinding her hips against stilled fingers. "…only if you make me."

Jane shot up, and captured Katherine's lips in a desperate kiss.

But their session was rudely interrupted by several loud knocks. "Jane!"

Jane recognized the voice. It belonged to none other than Barold Frost. "Go away, Barry."

"We have to go, now!"

Katherine asked, "Are you sure you don't have to get that?"

"I'm sure." Jane cupped Katherine's breast, and she tasted the salty flesh. "I'm definitely sure."

There came several more knocks, "They have him, Jane! They grabbed Giovanni!"

That was the last thing Jane wanted to hear. She threw her head back, and sighed. "I have to go."

Katherine rolled aside, and she covered her shame with the blanket. "What is it?"

"It's nothing you should concern yourself with, darling." Jane threw on her pants, followed by her button up shirt. "You shouldn't wait up. I don't know how long I'll take."

Katherine pulled the blanket with her. She then pushed a fully clothed Jane against the door, unzipped her pants, and she gently grazed the outskirts of her cunt.

Jane swallowed a moan.

Arousal doesn't lie. With full eye contact the entire time, Katherine brought her fingers to her mouth, and she licked them clean.

"Be back soon."

Jane threw the door open, and left before she regretted her decision.

Barry was on the other side, alert and wide awake. "I found Giovanni first, but they grabbed him from me. There's no telling if they've already beaten us to it."

Jane's mood had soured. And the night started with such potential, too.

Things were about to go belly up.

\- o -

Night had long fallen, yet the town was still roaring with life. But not this particular parlor. No. This drinking hole had closed its doors to the public. Three bodies occupied the space, though only two were there by choice.

Gilberti Giovanni found himself tie tighter than a wild boar. The stains on his face were marked with sweat, blood, and tears, though that was the least of his worries.

Frankie brought his right hand up, and he delivered yet another hard right.

"Aw, fuck!"

"Where is he?!" Frankie gripped Gilberti by his cheeks, "Where?!"

"I told ya! I ain't got no idea where he is. And that's the truth!"

"Nobody steals from the Rizzolis, you hear me?!" Frankie slapped Gilberti, again and again, and again. "So you either give your mate up, and spare yourself the pain and misery, or you can join him in Hell. It doesn't matter to me. Because I will find him. And he will pay."

"What —"

The locked door splintered against the frame as it was kicked in with unadulterated force.

All eyes were drawn to the unexpected intrusion. And the sight was most unwelcomed.

"Get out, Jane." Frankie growled, "This doesn't concern —"

Jane caught Frankie with a sucker punch that sent him tumbling backwards, and over a table.

Tommy immediately rushed to his brother's aid, but was stopped in mid-stride.

"Stay out of this, Thomas." Jane warned, "This is between Franklin and I."

Tommy threw his brother a helpless look, before he retreated to the sidelines and did as he was told. Barry kept him company, but also as added reassurance.

"You cunt!" Frankie picked himself up, and he charged at Jane. "I will ruin you!"

Jane and Frankie stood toe to toe, their faces barely inches away as they stared each other down. Frankie pumped his chest; his hands balled into tight fists. Jane was tall, even for a girl; and often times, she even towered over the men. It afforded her the luxury to stand eye-level with her brother dearest. And unlike Frankie, Jane remained indifferent; unaffected by his provocations.

Frankie wanted to beat her face in, and he almost did, too, if not for the fact that Jane scared her, through and through. Jane Clementine Rizzoli was a woman to be feared, and for good reasons, too. He, of all people, knew what she was truly capable of. It was not in his best interest to poke the hornet's nest.

The stare down didn't last much longer. Frankie did the right thing, and he backed down.

Jane walked past Frankie, and when she did, she purposely rammed her shoulder against his.

Unlike Frankie, at the sight of Jane Rizzoli, Gilberti trembled with fear.

Not a word. Jane grabbed Gilberti by the neck of his shirt, and she slammed him, face first, onto the table.

"I'm really not in the mood to dick about. So I'm only going to ask you once: where is he?"

"I…is…not…" Gilberti stuttered. "I just…let me think."

Jane pulled a knife from her waistband, and she cut the ropes loose.

Then without warning, Jane jabbed the blade through Gilberti's back hand. The knife pierced the flesh with ease, and it kept the limb pinned against the tabletop. "Wrong answer."

Gilberti screamed at the top of his lungs.

Jane held her hand up, and she caught a second knife that was tossed over by Barry. She took Gilberti's right hand, and she laid the limb flat against the surface.

Jane asked calmly, "Where is he?"

Gilberti answered with yet another freakish scream.

"Wrong, again."

Jane hacked the pinky finger off with one clean swipe.

Frankie and Barry were unaffected by the violence. But Tommy, on the other hand, his hands were clasped tight over his mouth as he did his best to suppress his disgust.

"Where is he?!"

Gilberti threw up a pint of ale he had earlier, in lieu of actual words.

"Wrong, again!"

Jane pinched the hand, and loped off his ring finger.

"Where is he?!"

"Old Meeting House. Federal Street." Gilberti gagged several more times as the acid burned his esophagus, "Room #31."

Jane retracted the blade from his left hand, and she kicked Gilberti to the floor. "Get out of here."

Gilberti did not need to be told twice. He scrambled onto his feet, and he bolted out the door for dear life.

"You go, Tommy. And remember, bring him back, alive."

Tommy, weary about taking sides, relented as did as he was told. "I will, Janie."

Jane wasn't done here, not yet. "I will give you fair warning, Franklin: never, and I mean never, do that again. Barold found Gilberti first, and that makes him his."

"The day I take orders from a filthy nigger is the day pigs fly." Frankie spat at the foot of Barry's shoes, "Just because you dress a monkey up, don't make him any less of a monkey."

Jane shoved Frankie across the room, and pressed him up against the wall with the sharp edge of an even blade. "You will not speak about Barold like that, nor will you use that language in my presence, you hear me?"

"Don't do it, Jane." Barry heeded, "He's not worth it."

Frankie's nostrils flared, though he uttered not a single word.

"Do not give me a reason to bring harm upon you, brother, for I will." Jane said through gritted teeth, "Learn your place and show some respect, lest you forget that I am the eldest."

"You're delusional, Janie. This is a man's world."

"We both know you don't need a pair of bullocks to be a real man."

Barry lowered Jane's arm, and with it, the dangerous blade. "Let's go, Jane."

The defiant look Frankie had in his eyes were reflective of Jane's own personality; they were truly related by blood, whether they liked it or not.

The cool night air of fall in Boston chilled Jane to the bone. This had taken longer than she expected, and left her bloodied and upset. She was in dire need of relief. And she had just the woman for that.

"Good night, Barold." Jane parted ways, "And this time, don't come looking for me."

\- o -

 **A/N: "Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that."**


	2. Chapter 2: Debt Owed is a Payment Due

**CH 2: Debt Owed is a Payment Due**

 **Warning: offensive language reflective of the time and culture.**

\- o -

Regardless of how busy the family was, or whatever business they had, the Rizzolis would meet and enjoy the company of each other over Sunday dinner. It was a long held tradition, and one nobody was intent on breaking, no matter their discontent for one another.

The head of the table was reserved for Angela.

The food was decadent, and the best money could buy. But dinner was less than enjoyable. The ambiance was off, and it showed. The tension in the room was so thick, it was practically palpable.

Jane spent the entire meal pushing her food from side to side.

Frankie kept his mouth shut, though that wife of his, she sang like a canary bird. It was known throughout town just what a big mouth Teresa had, and true to her personality, the woman was as obnoxious as she was loud.

Tommy was the youngest of the Rizzoli children. And much like his birth order, he kept to himself. He was neither ambitious, nor was he hungry for success like his brother and sister. Tommy was soft, and personable, much to Lydia's dismay. Lydia had always wanted to marry a Rizzoli; she just married the wrong one.

Jane was the only Rizzoli children to remain unwed. She was disinterested in the notion of marriage all together. A husband was not the answer, and it was most certainly out of the question.

Word of Jane and Frankie's parlor brawl had spread faster than cholera; it was the talk of town. And since then, neither siblings had made any attempts to reconcile. They were both too stubborn, and hardheaded, for their own good.

But that wasn't all.

The hunt wasn't over just yet. Gilberti Giovanni's information proved useful. But they were, yet again, one step behind. By the time Tommy got to the Old Meeting House, Gabriel Dean was already gone with the wind. It was apparent, from all the belongings he left behind, that his departure was in haste. They were closing in on him. It won't be long till they corner him, and when they do, Gabriel Dean will pay, dearly.

"Has there been any word from Father?" Frankie asked, "He will be back in time for the grand opening, will he not?"

"A group of merchant bankers won't honor their word, and want to break their lease. Their smug faces won't be smiling much longer once your Father has his way, you mark my words."

"I would've loved to visit Chicago with Father. I hear the place is heavenly with its vibrant night life. And so much more debaucherous than we give 'em credit for."

Lydia slapped him, "Tommy!"

"Your Father is there solely for the purpose of work, and not for leisure, Thomas." Angela said sternly, "You best grow up, and cease such petulant thoughts, for this business will one day be yours."

Jane slammed her fork down.

All eyes were immediately drawn to the ruckus.

"Angela's right, Tommy. The Rizzoli business will be yours one day. But until Father says otherwise, or till he's buried six foot under, you needn't concern yourself too much." Jane's next words were for Angela, "And you can be damn sure the latter will not be. For as long as I draw breath, nothing unbecoming will happen to Father. Do I make myself clear?"

Angela said through gritted teeth, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You can interpret those words however you see fit."

A knock sounded at the dining room door.

Barry bowed upon entry. "Beg pardon, Madam Rizzoli."

"No negroes allowed in the main house." Angela said harshly. "Did you forget, Barold?"

"It's fine, Barry." Jane waved him over, "What is it?"

Barry whispered into Jane's ears.

Jane's eyes reacted to the news as one might expect.

"If you'll excuse me." Jane stood up from the table, "I have something to attend to."

Frankie knew exactly what that matter was. "Excuse me, Mother."

The two Rizzoli siblings exited swiftly.

Tommy, unaffected by their departure, continued to enjoy his Sunday dinner, much to Lydia's chagrin. "What the fuck are doing, Tommy? Go!"

"What? But, I'm not finished —"

"Just go!"

Tommy quickly threw down his napkin, and ran out the door and after them.

Lydia definitely married the wrong Rizzoli.

Angela brought the glass to her lips, and she quenched her thirst with the finest red wine. What she couldn't quench was her revulsion. And the source of that was one, Jane Clementine Rizzoli.

Her two sons were the rightful heir to the Rizzoli family fortune. And she'll be damned if she let that repulsive cunt steal what's rightfully theirs by birthright.

This wasn't over.

\- o -

The place was deserted.

And Vince Korsak liked it that way.

That was the beauty of a city like Boston. There was order. And there was chaos. And in-between that was a balance that was the law. And he was the lawkeeper that kept that balance in check. More often than not, his badge was for show, and his gun was, well, more of a prop at this point. There were rules that everybody abided by. And when that happened, the city would run itself.

Korsak had his foot outstretched on his desk, with his hat over his eyes. The Sandman had whisked him away to dreamland. Well, that and the half bottle of bourbon he downed. A light snore filled the desolate room that was the Sheriff's department. And it was perfect.

"Korsak!"

Korsak flipped over his chair, and landed flat on his back.

"Jesus Christ!"

"You need to go!"

Korsak rubbed the sleep from his eyes. It was Gilberti Giovanni. The man was a first class immigrant, and a second class thief. He was known around town, but for all the wrong reasons.

"And where am I going?"

"The warehouse by the docks! The Rizzolis! They have Gabriel."

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

Gabriel Dean was a wanted man, but not by the law; it was a fate much worse. He was wanted by the Rizzolis. Gabriel, being the dumb, naïve retard that he is, stole a substantial amount of coins from a gamble den that belonged to Rizzolis.

By the unwritten rules of conduct, Gabriel Dean had wronged the Rizzolis, and it was a debt they could collect, no questions asked. But it wasn't that simple. What made this convoluted mess even messier was the fact that Gabriel Dean was Charles Jones' man. The Jones family were another powerhouse to be reckoned with. Their fortune was equal, if not more, than that of the Rizzolis.

The city of Boston had three noble families that ran the city, and everybody in it: Rizzoli, the Italians; Jones, the English; and Pierce, the Irish.

And as luck would have it, Gabriel Dean was a wanted man that belonged to the Jones family. He wasn't anybody of significance, but the Jones owned him, nonetheless.

If Gabriel Dean died tonight, there was no way in Hell Charles Jones was going to let this slide. He could not afford to lose face. What kind of message would that send to the people of Boston, if a man of his wealth and stature, couldn't even protect the life of a fucking lowly stable boy?

Korsak had to act fast. If he didn't, there was going to be a full blown turf war. And that was the last thing he needed. His job didn't pay him nearly enough to manage a violent, and no doubt bloody, war.

"I got this. Keep Jones preoccupied."

\- o -

The filthy warehouse was well lit with aplenty of oil lamps.

Gabriel Dean was held down, and on his knees. The pleas by now were nothing more than senseless garble. It wasn't so much the blood, but the repeated blows to the head.

Frankie smashed another bottle over Gabriel's head. It was his umpteenth one.

"Who put you up to it?!" Frankie screamed, "Say his name!"

Jane stood front and center, though she didn't interfere.

"Nobody..."

"Liar!" Frankie punched him with a hard right, "You take us for fools, don't you? A nobody like you wouldn't have the bollocks to pull something like this."

Gabriel repeated, "Nobody..."

Frankie raised yet another bottle, ready to strike, when he was halted.

"Stop it, Frankie." Jane finally spoke up. "He won't be able to take much more, lest you want him dead."

"And what if I do? The man's a thief!"

"That I agree. A thief, he is. So take his hand, not his life."

"But —"

"No." Jane snapped. "Regardless of how you feel about the Jones, we're not monsters, Franklin. We have honor. And we live by it. Take his hand."

"You're not taking anything."

Jane recognized that voice. As did the others.

"This doesn't concern you, Korsak."

"The Hell it doesn't, Jane." Korsak approached the intimidating group. "This isn't right, and you know it."

"Back off, Korsak." Frankie warned, "I suggest you take that fat arse back to the station, lest you want my foot up it."

Of all the Rizzolis, Korsak had the best relationship with Jane. They shared a mutual respect for one another, and they had similar personalities and interests, though their circumstances couldn't be more polarized.

"You can't make a move on Jones' people without dire repercussions. You know that."

Jane remained stoic, unaffected by Korsak's pleas.

"You've already taught him a lesson. Just let me walk out of here with him, and we'll put everything to rest."

Jane was unconvinced.

"You owe me, Jane. Do this for me, and I'll call it even."

"Let him go, Frankie."

"What the fuck, Janie?! You can't —"

"I said let him go!"

Neither Frankie, nor Tommy for that matter, dared defy Jane.

Frankie shoved Gabriel Dean to the floor, and he kicked him across the room.

"You want him that badly? Take him."

Korsak helped Gabriel onto his feet.

Jane grabbed Gabriel by his hair, "You tell Casey Jones that he will pay dearly for this. You hear me?"

This could've been over. This could've ended peacefully. But it didn't.

Gabriel Dean had been drifting in and out of consciousness. And when he came to this time, for whatever reason, Gabriel instinctively panicked at the sight of Jane Rizzoli. He didn't think; he reacted. He pushed Korsak aside, and he grabbed his revolver.

On a good day, Korsak would've been able to foil such a bold attempt, but not today, not after all that bourbon. He was delayed, and much too slow.

"No!"

Everybody in the warehouse scrambled to duck for cover

But not Jane. She closed the gap, and she knocked the barrel of the gun aside. But not before Gabriel Dean got one shot off.

The warehouse echoed with a deafening bang. And then silence.

Gabriel Dean fell to his knees, only this time, it was for good. The only indication of the knife was the handle that protruded from his neck.

"Janie!" Tommy rushed to Jane's side, "Are you okay?!"

"I'm fine." Jane said calmly, "He's all yours, Korsak. And remember, we're even now."

Korsak's impassive expression said it all.

"Let's go, Barry."

Jane held on for as long as she could. The moment Jane was in the clear, she, too, collapsed to the floor. The fucker knicked her in the shoulder. Jane was certain there was an entry wound, but no exit. The bullet was still lodged within her. She's been shot enough times to know the difference.

Barry shouldered the weight that was Jane Rizzoli.

"We need to get to Dr. Doyle's, now."

Barry didn't need to be told twice.

\- o -

It was late in the evening. And well past her bedtime. But Maura couldn't ignore the thunderous pounds against her door.

"Coming!"

Maura tied the robe around her waist, and lit one of the many lamps in the living room.

The moment the lock came undone, the door burst violently open. It nearly knocked Maura back.

"Dr. Doyle!"

Maura didn't recognize the two intruders. Nor did she know how they came to know her father.

"Can I help you?"

"My friend's been be shot."

"I see." Maura was unimpressed. "Well, my father's no longer practicing, so you'll have to look elsewhere."

"So you're Maura." Jane's face was pale; her forehead laced with a thin veil of cold sweat. "You're a lot prettier than I remembered."

Before now, Maura had assumed the fellow was a man; she hadn't gotten a good look at the face, on account of the head being slumped. So imagine her surprise when she realized it was a woman.

"Your friend, does she have a name?"

"Jane. She's Jane Rizzoli."

The name didn't ring a bell, though she most certainly recognized the surname.

"Get her into my study."

Barry did just that, with much effort and difficulty. Jane had lost consciousness, yet again.

"Guard the door. Don't come in till I tell you to."

Barry nodded, and closed the door behind him.

Before all else, Maura needed to assess the wound, and to do that, she needed access. She began to unbutton the white shirt when suddenly, Jane caught her hand.

"I'm not an easy lay. At the very least, you can buy me a drink first."

And with that proclamation, Jane was reclaimed by the darkness.

For the first time in a long while, Maura genuinely smiled. Jane Rizzoli was certainly something entirely else.

\- o -

 **A/N: So much drama. So much bullshit. And so much cholera.**


	3. Chapter 3: All Hell Breaks Loose

**CH 3: All Hell Breaks Loose**

 **Warning: offensive language reflective of the time and culture.**

\- o -

The house was empty. And she was all alone. The sun was out, and the weather was superb. She didn't want to play with her dolls anymore. They bored her. She wanted to climb trees, skip pebbles, and play on the swing outside, like all the other boys. It wasn't fair. They get to have all the fun, while she was stuck at home, with nothing more than stupid dolls and tea sets, and horrible frilly dresses.

"Mommy! I'm going out into the yard!"

There was no reply. And that was good enough for her.

She opened the back door, and shot straight out the house.

The backyard was grand, and spacious. There were plenty of apple trees, farmland, a stable, and so much more to explore.

She picked wild dandelions. And seed heads, too. She blew on the seeds, and watched as the wind took them on a magical journey. It was so much fun. She squealed with excitement. She picked a couple more, and all the same, she watched as the seeds floated away.

It was particularly windy today, though not the least bit cold. She followed the wind, and chased the seeds till she couldn't anymore.

All the energy and effort brought her outside the stable. She didn't go in, though. Her Father said it was out of bound, and no place for a child. She was about to turn away, and go play in the gulley, when something foreign caught her ears.

The doors to the stable didn't close probably at the hinge. It left a small sliver of space.

She peeked inside, so as to satiate her curiosity. Maybe it was monsters. Or, better yet, dragons!

What she found was neither.

Her Mother was on the floor. A woman, with her back to the door, tied a thick piece of hemp rope around her Mother's neck. It wasn't an easy task. It took the woman many tries. But when the ends were finally knotted, the woman walked over and she cranked the pulley. The squeak of the rusty wheel was distinct, and unforgettable. The woman didn't stop till her Mother was hoisted in midair, with both feet off the ground.

The woman locked the pulley in place. She then went and grabbed a stool, placed it right at the foot of her Mother, and she purposefully knocked it down.

She watched on with confusion, unable to comprehend, and powerless to intervene.

The woman gave her handiwork one last inspection. She did a final sweep, and made sure everything was in place.

Through the tiny silver, that face was forever seared into her brain, untainted and surreal. It haunted her dreams, till this day.

It was Angela.

\- o -

Jane's left leg jerked, and she was jolted violently awake. She would've jumped, too, if not for the sharp pain that echoed in her shoulder. It kept her down.

"You're awake. That's always a good sign."

Jane didn't even notice the presence of another being in the room. "Where am I?"

"My spare bedroom, if you must know." Maura propped Jane up on several more pillows. She then handed her a cup, "Drink this."

Jane did as she was told. The very first sip, and she struggled to swallow. She was this close to spitting out the concoction. "Good God! That is rancid. What the fuck is it?!"

"It's feverfew, turmeric, and sage. It might taste like sewage, but it'll ease your swelling, and bring down your fever."

Jane was weary, but there was something about Maura that exuded trustworthiness, which didn't come easy to her. With a pinch of the nose, Jane downed the entire mug. She followed up with a loud burp.

"Thanks."

"You really are something else, aren't you?" Maura checked Jane's bandage, "You'll need to be redressed soon. Best find yourself a physician when day breaks."

"And why would I do that, when I have a perfectly good physician as is."

"I am not your doctor. And you're most certainly not my patient."

Jane held up the cup, "I beg to differ. You obviously cared enough as not to see me perish. Why not see it all the way through, and render your services to my needs?"

"Because you're an atrocious human being. And your family is the reason why this city has gone to shits."

Jane couldn't help but flinch at those raw and brutal words. "Then why save me at all? Why not leave me be, and watch me die, if that's how you feel."

"A good decision is based on knowledge, and not on numbers."

"Plato."

Maura would've never guessed, in a million years, a simple-minded gangster like Jane Rizzoli would know of Plato, much less recognize a quote of his. She was impressed. And it showed.

"Don't be too surprised. Just because I'm a woman, and in a less than glorious profession, doesn't mean I can't be well read."

"That much is apparent. Yes."

"You saved me, Maura, and I owe you my life."

Maura said nothing.

"I want you to know, Dr. Doyle spoke very highly of you. Your father was a good man, and a even better healer. And if you're alright by him, you're alright by me. But if that's what you truly want, then so be it: you'll never have to see me again."

"My father..." Maura's voice broke, "You knew him well?"

"I did. Every time I had the unfortunate pleasure of seeing Dr. Doyle, you were the only thing he ever talked about. We live in a society where women are inferior to men. That's a fact of life. But Dr. Doyle didn't see it like that. He treated me with respect, as he would an equal. Which was why he wanted to send you overseas, to study medicine in Paris."

"How did you...?"

"Who did you think paid for your boarding and education?"

Maura was rendered speechless. She didn't know if she wanted to apologize for her earlier outburst, or express immense gratitude for everything Jane's done.

"I tell you this not to guilt you, Maura. You're a good doctor, much like your father. Do not squander your God given talent." Jane eased herself back down. "I will see myself out in the morning."

That was her cue to exit. Maura switched off the gas lamps, and she lingered in the doorway, unable to close the door behind her.

"I cannot quantify a sum to repay you for the gift of education you've bestowed upon me. I can only see your treatment through, as gratitude. But expect nothing more, for I can give no more."

"Good night, Maura."

\- o -

It was the dead of night. But regardless of the time, be it day or night, the warehouse was heavily guarded by no less than seven men, all armed with revolvers.

Everybody in Boston knew the warehouse belonged to Casey Jones. It was common knowledge. And that knowledge alone was enough of a deterrence for potential thieves looking to earn a quick buck.

But not this time.

Five automobiles were present, though only four were used as a drive by. They hit from all four sides of the warehouse. Two shooters leaned out the window, and riddled the bodies with bullets. The guards didn't stand a chance. It was an ambush. And it was damn effective.

When the last of the guards had fallen, the fifth automobile pulled out from its spot. And out stepped Tommy. In his hand was a molotov cocktail. He lit the dirty piece of fabric, and he chucked the bottle against the splintered side of the warehouse. He did this four separate times, on all four sides of the warehouse, till the entire wooden structure was engulfed in an untamable fireball.

This was war.

And this was the Rizzoli's retaliation. Nobody messed with their family. Nobody.

\- o -

The night club was alive and brimming with life as jazz music played, bodies danced, and people drank. It was the only place in town that provided a one-stop service. Regardless of what your vice may be, you'll be able to satiate that hunger here. There were people coming and going, as they pleased. Everybody felt safe. Nobody expected anything less.

A single shot was fired into the roof. The unmistakable sound of gunshot blanketed over the jazz music. And soon, chaos ensued, as people ran for their lives. There weren't many exit points. People were tramped, and lives were lost. It was chaotic. And it was simply perfect.

When the place finally cleared of all its patrons, with the exception of several bodies from the stampede, a group of men emerged.

The only ones left behind were the employees. A few attempted to reach for their guns, but were stopped dead in their tracks with a shot gun barrel to the face.

A blonde man, in a well-tailored suit, entered.

Casey gave the place a once over. He wasn't overly impressed with the decor. He pointed at the man behind the bar, "You. Barkeep."

The barkeep was forced onto his knees.

"Watch carefully, now."

That was the cue.

The men produced lead pipes, and they used it to beat the living crap out of the employees. The hail of assault was brutal, and relentless. Many of them didn't stop, not even when the employees were beaten to a bloody pulp, and lying in a pool of their own blood.

"Enough!"

Casey Jones slapped the barkeep across the face, as to get his undivided attention, and snap him out of his stunned stupor.

"You tell Jane Rizzoli, that if it's a war she wants, then so be it."

The barkeep merely nodded his head.

"Good. Now scram."

Casey meant every word. It's high time someone held the Rizzolis accountable. And a good place to start was Jane Rizzoli.

\- o -

All Hell in Boston has broken loose. It was Korsak's worst nightmare come true. Gabriel Dean was the catalyst in what will undeniably be the worse turf war in the history Boston.

It hasn't even been a week since the untimely demise of Giovanni, and already, there were bodies dropping left and right, and countless reports of atrocities committed on both sides. The Rizzolis and the Jones were clinched in a melee, with no foreseeable escape. They were in far too deep. The first to admit defeat would lose more than their face. A resolution was needed, but an intervention was necessary, and there was only one man Korsak could turn to at this point.

Korsak banged the brass knocker.

A black woman, in what one might expect the help to where, answered the door.

"I'm here to see Robbert."

"Yes. Master Pierce has been expecting you. Please, come this way."

The elderly help navigated the corridors till they reached their destination. She knocked, and held the door open for Korsak.

Robbert Theon Pierce was a well groomed man in his mid to late forties. The man had a stern face with hard features that made him feared without the need to break word. He had a tall frame, with just enough meat to cover his bones, and not an extra ounce more.

"Ah. Vince."

"Good day, Robb."

"Would you like something to drink?"

"Cognac; if you have any."

Robb smiled, and said, "You've always had such good taste for the finer things, Vincent."

"As you're already aware, this isn't a leisurely visit."

"I didn't think so."

"Jane Rizzoli and Casey Jones are playing with fire, and starting a war they cannot finish. But you must have already known that, Robbert, you're not an idiot."

"I do."

"This cannot continue. The mayor's patience is wearing thin, and my reassurances cannot compare to the complaints he's received from City council. If this matter isn't settled, Nathaniel will report this to the Governor. Worst case scenario: they'll declare an emergency."

If it was possible, Robbert's stern face hardened even more so.

"This is my city, Robb, and you know that. Everything I do, I do with the best of intentions for my people. It's the only reason I tolerate all your indiscretions. It's good for the local economy. But once State Troopers are to intervene, it's out of my hands."

"You've made your case, Vincent." Robb got up, and refilled Korsak's glass. "You needn't worry. I will personally settle the matter. And to a certain extent, you're right. All this madness can't be good for business."

"Glad to hear it."

A knock sounded at the door. And in walked Katherine Pierce.

"Ah. Katherine. Just the person I was looking for."

"Father." Katherine nodded her head, "Lawkeep."

Vince nodded his acknowledgement.

"Be a dear, Katherine. Please extend Charles an invitation, on my behalf, to dinner this evening. I will personally host the supper myself."

"As you wish, Father. Is that all?"

"Yes."

Katherine bowed, and exited.

"I appreciate this, Robb."

"Don't thank me yet. For all we know, I might not be able to quell anything. Jane has her father's temper. And we both know just how volatile she can be."

"Good luck, then. You'll need it."

\- o -

Frankie and a group of twenty waited in the darkness. They were heavily armed with various firearms. They were by the docks of Boston harbor. The frigid air that blew in from Massachusetts Bay chilled them to their very core.

Any moment now, a shipment was due to arrive. It was a cargo ship registered to one, Casey Jones. The imports were three months in the making. And was said to carry valuable spices and exotic teas from South East Asia. Casey Jones, being the merchant and businessman that he is, will undoubtingly flip the commodity and make twice, maybe even triple, his initial investment. That wasn't going to be the case, though.

Jane and Frankie were born five years apart. And though they were Rizzolis by blood, they shared only the same father. Their relationship has always been strained, even in the best of times. Their sibling rivalry was infamously notorious, and boundless. But at the end of the day, they were family. They'll always have each other's backs, regardless of their differences. And this was one of those instances. Casey Jones messed with Jane, and now, he had to face the wrath of the entire Rizzoli clan. Even Tommy manned up, and partook.

Soon, an air horn sounded.

It was show time.

Frankie held his hand up, and prepared to give the signal.

The cargo ship was near port, and ready to dock. It's anchor was lowered.

"Wait!"

Tommy had materialized from out of nowhere, and he threw himself on Frankie.

"What the fuck, Tommy? Get out of here!"

"Change of plans!"

"What?"

"We need to get out of here, now!"

Frankie gave the valuable cargo ship one last fleeting glance, before he turned and walked away from a fortune.

Tommy better have a damn good explanation.

\- o -

Jane was in her best Sunday clothes, so to speak. She didn't usually dress up, not even for her own family, but for Robbert Pierce, she did so. The man was a traditionalist. And as much as Jane hated to say it, she sought his approval, not for herself but for Katherine's sake. The man was Katherine's father, after all. She didn't want to put her in a difficult spot.

When Jane knocked, an elderly help opened the door, and greeted her.

Jane was led into the grand dining room, where the guests were already awaiting her presence.

"Good evening, Robbert." Jane then said with distaste, "Casey."

Casey Jones sat to Robbert's left. He replied, "Hello, Jane."

A butler pulled out a chair, and sat Jane down.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice."

"I came because I respect you, Robbert. But should I have known beforehand that Casey would also be in attendance, then I would've surely declined. I don't enjoy the company of duplicitous bastards, particularly back-stabbing ones."

"You watch your mouth, Rizzoli."

"Or what?"

"Please. There's no need for sharp tongues. That's not why we're here. I proposed this dinner to settle the matter amicably, like true gentlemen."

Casey scoffed. "She's nothing but a glorified wench, with nothing of substance between her loins. Hardly a man, and downright farfetched to be even be considered a gentleman."

"And yet of all three of us here, you're the biggest cunt, Casey."

Casey Jones turned beet red, both in part from embarrassment, and the anger.

"Good evening."

In walked Katherine Pierce, just in the nick of time. She wore her hair up, with a light touch of makeup. Her evening gown was simplistic, yet elegant; nothing too overtly fancy.

Katherine kissed her father on the cheek. "Father."

Casey got up, and kissed Katherine on the lips. "Hello, Darling."

Katherine locked eyes with Jane, "Evening, Jane."

Jane's curt response was, "Evening."

Casey said, "I hope you don't mind, Robbert, I asked Katherine to join us this evening."

"It's fine."

Casey's next words were said in spite, "Katherine's my fiancée. We don't keep secrets. Isn't that right, Darling?"

"It is."

Katherine could only watch as Jane averted her eyes, a look of subtle hurt written on her face. Her hand was locked in marriage to Casey, but her heart belonged to Jane.

If there ever was a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions, this was it.

\- o -

 **A/N: Snap, Crackle, and Pop. Kellogg's rice krispies.**


	4. Chapter 4: And So It Begins

**CH 4: And So It Begins**

 **Warning: offensive language reflective of the time and culture.**

\- o -

It was only dinnertime, but nobody in the Rizzoli household showed up for dinner. Nobody was in the mood, much less have an appetite.

They hid in their rooms, and avoided contact with one another, for varying reasons.

Unlike the rest of his family, Tommy relished the time he spent alone, in his study with his bottle ships. Of all the bottle puzzles there were, Tommy enjoyed bottle ships the most. Every move had to be calculated, and deliberate, for even the slightest blunder could ruin your entire project. Everything from the mast, to the spars, sails, and even the hinges, everything had to be precise.

"Will you stop with the fucking ships, Tommy?!" Lydia screamed. "Your sister is out there with Robert Pierce. Does that not concern you, at all?"

Tommy shut his eyes, and sighed. He was done for the evening. There was no way he would be able to concentrate with Lydia screaming like a banshee. He put down his long tweezers, and gently placed his vintage bottle aside for safekeeping.

"Jane can handle herself. There's no need to fret."

"It's not your sister I am worried about. It's you. You should be the one out there negotiating with Pierce and Jones, not Jane."

"Jane's the one they invited. And besides, Jane —"

"Oh, shut it! It's always 'Jane, Jane, Jane' with you. When will you grow a pair, and step up and be a man, for once in your life. At least Frankie's making an effort. All you ever do is read, and play with your silly toys. Go out there, and show the world that you are just as capable as Jane and Frankie."

Tommy pressed on the bridge of his nose. "Why are you so unusually cranky, Lydia? Because from where I stand, your anger is misplaced."

Lydia crossed her arms, and puffed like a frog. "It's that vile woman, Teresa. We all know that woman has a mouth on her, but this time, she's crossed the line. She's telling anybody that would listen, that Frankie would be the one to assume the reins once Frank steps down. And the worst part is, people actually believe her!"

"I don't see a problem."

"You're a Rizzoli, too! If anything, the business should be split in two."

"Three." Tommy corrected her. "Jane is the eldest Rizzoli."

"And a woman. She cannot own property, much less an empire."

Tommy disagreed, but he wasn't about to going at it with her. She was already driving him up the walls.

There came a knock on their door; a much welcomed distraction.

"Come in."

It was Frankie. "Let's go, Tommy."

"Oh." Tommy asked, "Where to?"

"Mother wishes to speak with us."

Great. Just when Tommy thought his night couldn't get any worse. He was wrong. Now that his wife has chewed him out, it was his mother's turn. He'll never get to finish that damn ship now.

\- o -

"I think you both know why I invited you here today. So let's not play coy and work this out with a bit of civility, yes?"

"I wasn't the one that started this war, Robert. Gabriel Dean was my property. She had no right to take his life. He belonged to my estate!"

"It was self defense, Charles." Jane yanked the neckline of her dress down, to reveal the bloody dressing below. "Gabriel Dean not only stole from us. He shot me. I was merely defending myself."

"And what of my opium?! I know it was your doing, Rizzoli!"

"And what if it was?"

"You vindictive cunt! That cargo was worth $10,000! That's more than you earn in a single month. They were due for Chinatown a week ago. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?"

"You're nothing more than a glorified drug peddler, with no honor to your name. Your opiates perpetuate addiction that ruin countless lives, and tear families apart."

"Watch your tongue, woman!"

"Money can't buy class. Or lives. You crippled five of my men. They have mouths to feed. Now they're invalids, and a burden to their loved ones. Who will compensate them?"

"Compensation?" Casey laughed out loud. "They're a bunch of niggers and mutts. A waste of skin, and space, if you asked me."

"Enough!" Katherine screamed. "Cease this petulant bickering this moment!"

"But —"

"No, Casey. Let Father speak. He has his reasons."

Jane Rizzoli and Charles Jones may be grown, and well into their adulthoods, but in reality, they were nothing more than children with their childish quarrels.

"This isn't just about your feud. It's more far more grave than that. I just got a final confirmation from City Hall. They've approved our papers. Our casino is due to open early next month."

This was news, to both Jane and Casey. They had no idea.

"We're equal partners in this endeavor. All three of us. But if this feud escalates, and the governor catches wind of the unrest, he will not hesitate to revoke our permits." Robert's stern voice lowered, even more so. "I have more than money invested in this project. I will not be made to look a fool, not by my future son-in-law, nor by you, Jane."

Both Jane and Casey understood the repercussions of what it meant to have the casino fail.

Jane was the bigger person. She said, "I understand."

Casey, the petty man that he is, said nothing. A nod of the head was his only acknowledgement.

"Good. This project has been years in the making. We are this close to securing a contract with the state for its railroad, and the casino is our stepping stone to getting into the statesmen's pockets. We've bribed far too many people to have this fail, not when we're so close to the finish line. Once we've secured the contract for the rail work, you can throw down all you like for all I care."

Casey raised his glass, "Until such a time, Rizzoli."

Jane clinked glasses, and drank to that.

"Excellent." Robert raised his glass, too, and drank to the truce. "Cheers."

"Dinner will be served shortly, but before such time, will you excuse Jane and I, Father? I would like to show her the manuscript I procured for the museum."

"And which might that be?"

"The one from Charlotte, Father."

Jane was a fan, and couldn't believe it. "Are you talking about Jane Eyre?"

"Preciously." Katherine spoke with exuberance. "It's Charlotte's original manuscript; untouched and unedited."

Casey laughter was in between that of a snort and a snicker. "Your time could be better spent than on that pile of rubbish you call literature. Its take on social class and gender relation is grievously outrageous."

Katherine didn't care for Casey's opinion, and she made it known. "That's where you're wrong, Charles. Her insightfulness and well rounded observation of our times is what will propel the novel to be a timeless classic. You just wait and see."

"If you say so, darling."

Katherine wanted to snap Casey's head off, but her father intervened. "Well, go on."

Katherine stormed out the dining hall, with Jane not too far behind. The moment they were alone in the hallway, Jane grabbed Katherine from behind, and embraced her with all her might.

"That vile, small-minded being you call a man, does not deserve to be with you."

Katherine eased her body back, and deepened the embrace.

"It breaks my heart whenever I see you be intimate with that bigot. I can't even bring myself to imagine what your future will be like in that man's arm, when he calls you his."

"Jane..."

"I know. It's not your fault, nor do you have a say. But that doesn't make it hurt any less."

Katherine spun around, and she kissed Jane, ever so tenderly. Unlike Casey, where the kiss was shallow and superficial, this was deep and genuine.

When they parted, Katherine whispered, "I love you."

"I know."

"Casey will only ever have my body. And nothing more."

"And that's what kills me."

\- o -

They were in the study room. The space would usually be occupied, but with their father out of town, it provided the privacy they desired for their covert discussion.

It was Frankie, Tommy, and Angela. And that was it. They were a family unit. Outside those doors, everybody else was dispensable, and that included Jane Rizzoli, and Franklin Senior, if need be.

"What do you want now, Mother?"

"Do not take that tone with me, Franklin. I am your mother. And I thought I raised you boys better than this."

Tommy asked, "What are you talking about?"

"You may be grown, and men in your own right, but truth be told, you're nothing more than naïve juveniles! That goes for the both of you." Angela scolded. "A golden opportunity fell into your laps, and you fail to seize it by its bullocks, is what! This was not your fight. You could've used this chance to depose of Jane, and none would be the wiser. Charles Jones was the perfect pawn. But instead, I find you both out there, with your necks on the line for her."

Neither Frankie nor Tommy rebuked their mother. They took the scolding like school children being dressed down by their teacher.

"I expected this sort of behavior from Tommy — he's never had much ambition, nor aspirations — but you, Frankie, you're made for this. Why?!"

Tommy shied away, and accepted the insult. It wasn't the first time his mother looked down on him, and it most certainly won't be the last.

"You are out of line, Mother. This wasn't solely about Jane. Casey Jones insulted us. He sabotaged our business, and cast an undeniable cantor of shame on our family name, and honor. Retaliation was a necessity. How else will we command respect and strike fear into the hearts of those that dare cross us?"

Angela couldn't believe her ears. She had two sons, and both were as useful as a bag of pebbles, and as ambitious as a cactus. "This was a once in a lifetime opportunity. And now, that boat has sailed. You will forever be in your sister's shadow. That cannot be. You are the legitimate heir to the Rizzoli fortune. And as long as that sister of yours is living and breathing, she will not let that be. It's either her, or us."

Tommy chided, "Mother! Jane is our blood, too."

Angela cupped Tommy's face with a loving, motherly touch. But then in the blink of an eye, Angela struck him with an open palm.

"Ow!"

"Let that be your lesson: those that you love can hurt you the most."

Tommy nursed his reddened cheek; his eyes wet and brimming with tears.

"Oh, for heaven's sake..."

"That's enough." Frankie said firmly. "Jane and I do not see eye to eye on many things, but the one thing we do agree upon is the importance of family. Despite your abhorrent feelings for her, it's undeniable that we share the same bloodline. We are Rizzolis by name, and by blood. And Rizzolis do not kill Rizzolis."

"Frankie —"

Frankie was done for the evening. He flung open the door, and stormed out without another word.

Tommy, with his hand still on his sore cheek, said, "Goodnight, Mother."

Over the years, Angela did her best to fuel the sibling rivalry between Jane and Frankie. It was nothing new. But no matter the circumstances, Angela couldn't get Frankie, nor Tommy, to flip on that wretched cunt.

It was only a matter of time. Jane knew far too much. If she ever found out the truth about her birth mother, Angela was as good as dead; there was no doubt about it.

Angela wasn't doing this solely for herself. It was also for her children. It had to be done. It must be done.

\- o -

It was time.

The streets were empty. Only a few patrons were still out and about; many of them too drunk to piss, and too drunk to care.

Three knocks.

It took a bit of time. The shopkeeper turned on a lamp, and cracked the door open. This wasn't random. It was prearranged.

A $100 banknote was handed over.

The man's tired eyes lit up. The shopkeeper, in all his years of business, has never seen such a large denomination.

A note followed.

"Take this message, and send the telegraph to that number."

"Yes. Right away."

And with that, the transaction was complete.

The wheels were now in motion. There was no going back.

\- o -

The only dab of light came from the lamp on the dining room table. And it would've burnt out long before Maura was the wiser if not for the book that slipped from her sleepy grasp, and hit the floor with a loud bang. The unexpected ruckus roused Maura from her uneventful sleep. She must've dozed off.

It was dark out. And way past her bedtime. And she would've retired earlier, too, if not for the fact that Jane was supposed to meet her after supper. That didn't seem likely. Not now, anyways.

Maura threw her copy of The Scarlett Letter on the table, and retreated upstairs. She wasn't half way up the steps when repeated bangs on her front door stopped her dead in her tracks. A heightened sense of déjà vu struck Maura.

And much like the scenario a fortnight ago, it was Jane slumped on Barry's shoulder, yet again. Only this time, she wasn't shot. Jane reeked of booze.

"Take her home, Barry. Let her sleep it off. There isn't anything I can do for her here."

"I would, Dr. Isles, but then there's this." Barry yanked Jane's neckline to reveal the dressing beneath. And sure enough, the white gauze was stained bright red. "I think she might have overexerted herself."

Maura sighed, and said, "Take her upstairs. I'll deal with it."

Barry did as he was told. It wasn't easy getting Jane up those stairs, but somehow, Barry managed.

"You can retire for the evening, Barold. You can retrieve her come morning."

Barry nodded, and dismissed himself.

Jane was out cold. Her cheeks were flushed and rosy, and matched that of her tainted dressing. But that wasn't all that Maura noticed. The Jane Rizzoli she saw before her differed greatly from the first time she met the woman. The Jane Rizzoli she saw a fortnight ago exuded strength, confidence, and power. And it reflected in her choice of clothing. This Jane, the woman in her guest room, was in an elegant dress, reflective of the upper societal class she belonged to. The difference was stark.

Maura removed Jane's dress, without much difficulty, and tossed it aside. Next, she changed her dressing. The wound was slightly red and swollen, but it was to be expected. The stitches held. The blood was from the inflammation of the surrounding area. Maura sanitized the wound, and reapplied a fresh ply of gauze.

But that wasn't all. Maura not only played doctor, she had to play nurse as well. She wrung a damp towel, and she wiped away the dirt, sweat, and tear stains that marked Jane's face. She was almost done, when Jane grabbed her hand, and held it on her cheek.

"Please, don't go."

"You've had your fill, Jane, and you're drunk." Maura wanted to stand, but was pulled back down. "What —"

"I love you."

Maura knew Jane didn't mean it — she couldn't, she wasn't in the right mindset — and yet, she was touched by those three simple words. It wasn't meant for her, she knew, but nonetheless, it affected her.

"Stay with me." Jane pleaded sorrowfully. "I've had you so many times, yet I know you'll never be mine. So please, just this once, stay the night. Stay with me."

Their eyes locked, and their gazes fell into each other longingly, whether intentionally or unintentionally.

Maura could feel Jane's breath on her lips. She's never had this level of intimacy before, man or woman. She didn't know how she felt about this, about Jane. But nonetheless, for whatever reason she couldn't explain, she agreed. "Okay. I'll stay."

Jane eased up, and laid back down.

Maura dimmed the lamp until the flame finally gave out.

The room was shrouded in darkness.

Maura slipped under the covers, and shared the bed with nothing more than a bunkmate, she thought.

But it wasn't as Maura thought.

Jane drew her body close, and wrapped an arm around Maura's waist. Their bodies contoured perfectly into one another.

Maura didn't resist. She melted into the embrace, and was swept by the serenity.

Jane kissed Maura on the back of the head, and muttered, "You're mine. Forever and always."

Little did Maura know, those words would forever alter her destiny, and ultimately seal her fate.

\- o -

The room reek of cheap perfume, and the blunt odor of opium.

The sheets were splayed, and the covers undone. The only thing left on the king size bed were pillows. Frank Senior laid on his side, with no less than four pillows to prop his head up. He was on his side because the open flame was situated on the bed stand next to him. And with that open flame, Frank inhaled the wonderful aroma that was opium. The pipe was made with bamboo rimmed with silver. There was a clay bowl near the end of the pipe, and it had globule of molten opium. The open flame provided the necessary heat to melt the addictive drug, and thus, making it possible to inhale the substance.

A woman in her forties, completely topless and in nothing but a pair of soiled panties, sat in the corner and enjoyed a cigarette. Unlike her client, she didn't indulge in opium. It was far too addictive, and dangerous, for her taste.

Frank was high out of his mind. Every single one of his senses were heightened; his body was lighter than a rain cloud.

"Madeline." Frank ordered, "Come here."

Madeline snubbed her cigarette out. And she trudged over. This wasn't her first time servicing Frank, and it won't be the last. She knew what Frank liked, and disliked. And she knew exactly what buttons to press to get him off.

Frank yanked his drawers off, and he exposed himself.

Madeline began working her magic. Frank wasn't hard. Nor was he going to be. But he paid for the evening, and so she had to try, even though she knew her efforts would be in vain.

The suite door flew open. It was kicked with such force that the doorknob came off, and the wall dented from the impact.

The sudden, and violent, intrusion startled both Frank and Madeline.

"What's the fuck?!" Frank yelled. "What did I tell you?! No niggers allowed upstairs! Now, get out!"

A revolver was raised.

Though Frank was still on cloud nine, he still had enough sense to comprehend the dire situation.

"Are you out of your mind?! I am your master. You do not point that —"

One bullet. To the head. And Franklin Senior was forever silenced.

Frank fell back. And that was it. He was dead.

Madeline screamed bloody murder, but that was about all that she could do. Another bullet to the head, and she, too, joined Frank in the underworld.

But his work wasn't done.

He brought the telegraph up to the open flame, and lit the message up, ever so slowly. He then knocked the oil lamp on the floor, and he smothered the floorboard, leading up to the curtains, in the flammable oil. He dropped the flaming telegraph, or what's left of it, and he watched as the flame caught fire.

The fire was small, but with plenty of encouragement, the flame began to roar with life. Soon, the raging inferno consumed the room. But it's appetite didn't stop there. The ravenous flame engulfed everything in its destructive path. It was merciless. And it burned with enough ferocity to light the nighttime skyline of Chicago brighter than the mid-noon sun.

Franklin Rizzoli was dead.

And so it begins.

\- o -

 **A/N: It's the most wonderful time of the year. Or not.**


	5. Chapter 5: Trail of Breadcrumbs

**CH 5: Trail of Breadcrumbs**

 **Warning: offensive language reflective of the time and culture.**

\- o -

The one thing you realize being born in such a time, in such a place, was the harsh reality of life; nothing here is ever easy, and nothing here is ever given. If you wanted something, you either had to earn it, or you had to take it. And that's exactly how she lived her life. Everything she had today was paid for with blood, sweat, and tears. But that was nothing new.

There was a reason behind Angela's paranoia. Frank Senior, her lovely husband, has expressed his wishes to retire countless times. She never thought anything of it. But day after day, week after week, maybe, just maybe, he was serious this time. And that was a cause for concern. Of all three of his children, Frank has always loved Jane above all others, for he saw himself most in her. That, and the fact Jane resembled his late wife to the tee.

Under the City of Boston bylaws, inheritance was patrilineal. The father — that is, the owner of the land — bequeaths only to his male descendants. If there are no living sons, and no descendants of any previously living sons, then can daughters inherit. But that by-law did not, and cannot override, a subscriber's last will and testament. If Frank was to die without a last will and testament, then this estate — inclusive of all his properties and holdings — would be split between Frankie and Tommy. But Angela knew better. Frank had drafted up a will. She was certain of it.

The office was shady, and that was putting it nicely. But the man came highly recommended.

"Ah. Mrs. Rizzoli. Right on time."

Angela assessed the tiny man. Right off the bat, she could already tell he was a Jew; the best kind of people for this kind of job. Angela pulled out a stack of bank notes that amounted to no less than $500, and she dropped it on his desk.

"My husband's having second thoughts. And I want to rectify that."

Christopher Baumann was a barrister that worshipped the almighty green. The money there was enough to put him through law school, twice over. He would be insane to refuse such a sum, but he wasn't eager to jump ship either. He wanted to know what he was getting himself into.

"Let's not play coy, Mrs. Rizzoli. Why don't you come right out and say what it is you expect from me."

"I want you to draft a last will and testament, whereby my husband leaves all his worldly belongings to the rightful Rizzoli heirs." Angela said straightforwardly. "To put it more bluntly, Mr. Baumann, I want Jane Rizzoli cut off, both financially and economically. She will not be afforded a single dime. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good. I want your best workmen on this. It should be able to withstand time, and scrutiny if this was to ever be challenged in a court of law."

"Of course."

Angela handed several documentations over. "That's a complete list of our estates, holdings, bonds, and whatever the Hell have you, that's currently under the Rizzoli name."

"Give me a month." Christopher Baumman said. "I'll need a top-grade forger for your husband's signature. And I'll have to procure a City of Boston seal, to authenticate the pertaining documents."

"You have a week."

"That's absurd, Mrs. Rizzoli. You can't —"

"One week."

Baumann swallowed his words, and held his tongue.

"Oh. Before I forget, there is one more thing I need from you." Angela reached into her purse, and procured another $500. "I don't care if you outsource the job, do it yourself, or if you hire a nigger, I want her dead in the next fortnight."

"I don't get it, Mrs. Rizzoli. If you wanted Jane Rizzoli dead, then why go through the trouble of forging —"

"It is not your job to understand. Your job is to see to it that my wishes are fulfilled. And believe you me, Mr. Baumann, you do not want to disappoint me."

"But of course, Mrs. Rizzoli." Chris Baumann got up, "Let me see you out."

"That's quite alright. Get to work, Mr. Baumann. Time is ticking."

And just like that, Angela walked out $1000 lighter. But all in all, it was money well spent.

\- o -

The City of Boston was one of the most prosperous cities on the East coast, with its access to the maritime ports. But there was always room for improvement. And that improvement was the transportation of the future: railway. The transcontinental railroad was the first of its kind. Its ultimate goal was to connect the East coast with the West, expanding all across the Midwest. The locomotive will forever change the history of America. It was a grand time to be alive.

The contracts for the railroad was a lucrative piece of meat; every vulture wanted a taste of the succulent flesh. But it wasn't going to be easy. The competition was high. And the pockets of even the wealthiest may not, ultimately, grant you what your heart desires.

And that's when Robbert Theon Pierce came up with the idea for a casino. Why chase after the politicians, when you can have them come to you. Once the casino grew big enough, and drew in the big names, they'll be able to worm their way into their pockets. And when they finally fall victim to that burden of debt, the contracts will be theirs for the picking. It was brilliant. And it was courtesy of Robbert Theon Pierce.

The Jones were the first to get aboard the idea. The Rizzolis, Franklin Senior, to be precise, was the last party to agree. And he would've rejected Robbert Pierce's proposal outright, if not for Jane's incessant badgering. In the end, all that persuasion worked; it was a done deal. Now, two years later, the casino was finally going to open its doors for the very first time.

Casey Jones was with Katherine, while Jane was with Maura. They were inspecting the building, and doing a final walkthrough before the place opened for business.

Maura didn't want to admit it, but she's come to enjoy the company of Jane. A woman that was once nothing more than an urban legend on the streets, Maura has come to change her opinion of the elder Rizzoli. But like all good things in life, their working relationship was about to come to an end. Jane's wound was in its final stages of recovery. Soon, there won't be a need for her. And the thought of that, it made Maura's heart ache dearly.

Maura stayed in the lobby, and she purposefully distanced herself from Jane, and Katherine.

"Do you like the interior design?"

"I do. They were no doubt your doing."

"How'd you figure?"

"I've never known of another being as infatuated with colors as you. You know the spectrum of a rainbow like the backside of your hand."

Katherine giggled. That was the one thing she loved about Jane; she was ever so observant. She had the ability to know without being told, unlike others, most certainly Casey.

"Has your wound been acting up lately?"

"No. It hasn't."

"Then, pray-tell, why is it that every time I see you out and about publicly, is your lady-doctor always by your side?"

Katherine wasn't one to fall prey to jealousy easily, but this time there was something awfully different. She seemed genuinely upset.

"Cat got your tongue?"

Jane's face was mere inches away from Katherine's, their bodies dangerously close, and positioned in such way that would be unexplainable.

"The color green does not suit your complexion well, Lady Pierce, so it's best not to wear it so proudly."

"Do not take that tone —"

Jane pulled Katherine in, and she kissed her fearlessly; unafraid and daringly. Though they were in public, and in the presence of tens of employees, and Casey Jones, but none of that was enough of a deterrence, not for Jane.

"Only your touch can light my desire ablaze." Jane cooed. "Dr. Isles is nothing more than a companion whose intellect I find rivals my own. It makes for great conversation, and nothing more."

"Such words of high praise."

Jane shrugged, and said, "I give credit where credit is due."

"JANE!"

The yell was followed by a crash downstairs.

Jane bolted from the room, and quickly ran downstairs.

It was Barry. He knocked over a table, and some glassware.

"Watch it, you incompetent negro." Casey scolded. "Do I need to teach you —"

"Hold your tongue!" Jane hollered from afar. "Touch him, Casey, and I'll see to it that that will be last thing your hand ever touches."

Casey Jones was infuriated, but Katherine came to his side, and brushed his chest gently. "Let it go, darling, there's no harm done."

"Bullocks."

And with that, Casey walked away.

Maura helped Barry up, and gave him her seat. "What's so damn pressing that you almost broke your arm for?"

"It's an urgent telegraph from Chicago."

The urgency, combined with Barry's expression, Jane dreaded the news of what's to come.

"What is it?" Katherine asked. "Go on."

"It's your father, Jane, he's..."

"He's what? Spill it."

"Dead."

Jane lost her footing and she fell to her knees. She collapsed with unadulterated force.

"Jane!"

Maura immediately leaped to Jane's side; something Katherine took note of.

Jane was overcome with emotions, but she couldn't cry. The gears in her mind were churning.

"Say something, Jane. Anything."

"Katherine, please relay to your father that Frankie and I will be absent for the grand opening. Tommy will take our respective places. Given the direness of the situation, he would surely understand."

"But of course."

"Barry, I need you to head to the docks, and grab Frankie. Tell him what's happened in Chicago. Both of you head home, and pack lightly. We're heading for Chicago come noontime."

Barry nodded, and immediately headed out the door.

"You have matters to attend to." Maura excused herself, "I'll show myself out."

"No." Jane grabbed Maura's hand, and held her close. "I need you to come to Chicago with me."

"What?!" Katherine was thunderstruck. "Why would you bring her on such a long and treacherous trek?"

"If my father's death was at the hands of foul play, I want to know how he died. So when the time comes, I swear to all that is Holy, I will have them hurt a hundred folds for what they've done, so help me God."

\- o -

The day in the life of a Rizzoli wasn't as glamorous as people thought. For one thing, it was lonely. And that was the biggest struggle Lydia has faced since her marriage to Tommy. She grew up in a completely different social class, and had an entirely different circle of friends. But since the day she donned that wedding band, she was isolated on both fronts; those that she grew up with no longer wanted anything to do with her, and those of the high societal class saw her as an outsider. Lydia had no one but her family, and Tommy. And even then, she didn't get along particularly well with any one person.

Every week come Wednesday, Lydia would be out the house to attend her classes. She had several: water painting, penmanship, flower arranging, whatever they may be. But on this particular Wednesday, all the classes were cancelled, on account of the whooping cough. One teacher had fallen ill. And seven days later, the entire faculty was out.

The last thing Lydia needed was an infectious disease. The Rizzoli family already despised her; there was no need to give them a reason to hate her even more so.

When Lydia got home, the house appeared emptied. And just as she was about to lock herself in her room, the sound of laughter caught her ear. It came from the living room.

"The nerve that Scarlett has, to demand a place at my table, in my house?"

"Men are nothing more than hound dogs. But at the end of the day, as long as they know where their homes are, that's all that matters."

In their living room was the missus of several influential families of Boston. They were in their Sunday's best, with their fashionable hair and hats. They were all seated around the coffee table, as they enjoyed their tea with finger sandwiches and biscuits. And amongst them, like she was one of their very own, was Teresa.

"Hello."

A cloak of silence draped over the room.

"Oh!" Teresa shot up from her seat, in a rather un-ladylike manner. "What are you doing back so early, Lydia? Do you not have classes today?"

"I did, but they were...do you usually high tea here on Wednesdays, because you knew I would be away?" Lydia asked rather candidly. "Is that it, Teresa?"

"Please, excuse us."

Teresa grabbed Lydia, and she practically dragged her into the kitchen.

"Get out, now!"

The kitchen staff dropped what they were doing, and scattered like mice.

"Are you trying to embarrass me?!"

"I'm the one that should be embarrassed. This was going on right underneath my nose the entire time, and I didn't have a bloody clue."

"Oh, stop with the self-depreciation." Teresa said with a scoff. "If I so much as mention your name, these women will drop out of here faster than flies."

Lydia was hurt, and her expression currently reflected that.

"You can do your makeup, wear your pretty dresses, and play make-believe all your want. But at the end of the day, you're at the bottom of the caste, whether you like it or not. You'll never truly be one of us."

Lydia shook with rage.

"Tommy will never amount to much, but he was born a Rizzoli, so your meal ticket is set for life. So keep your head down, and your mouth shut, and when the time comes for my Frankie to take the reins, I'll make sure you won't go hungry."

Lydia reached for a ladle, and the next thing she knew, she clubbed Teresa in the face with it. The utensil bounced off the skull and made a sickly crack.

Teresa went down hard.

Lydia stood over Teresa's unconscious body, and she continued to tremble with rage.

\- o -

The trip from Boston to Chicago was indeed long and treacherous. The amount of time needed to travel from one point to the other usually required half a month, if not more. But that wasn't going to cut it. No. They needed to be in Chicago within a week, and even then, it was much too long for Jane's liking, but they didn't have a choice.

Though technology has come a long way, and motor vehicles were available, they just weren't made for long distance trips. It wasn't so much the vehicle as it was the roads. There were no manmade roads available. The harsh terrains weren't made for cars. At the end of the day, when it mattered the most, they resorted to the most primitive method: horseback.

Every single one of them, with the exception of Maura, were skilled equestrians. They rode at breakneck speed, with barely any rest for either the riders, or the horses. They did their best to time their horses' exhaustion, so by the time they got to a new town, they would simply purchase new rides, and continue forth with their trek. In a twenty-four hour day, they would ride for twenty, with only four hours of rest.

There were three horses shared between four bodies. Frankie and Barry were more than capable of riding solo. They also carried the bulk of their luggage. Jane took it upon herself to ride with Maura for the duration.

The first day was the absolute worst for Maura. By the time they finally stopped, and called it a night, she couldn't walk. She could not bring herself to physically walk. The glutes in her buttocks spasmed and pinched every time she stood. But that wasn't the worst part. Her inner thighs burned with the intensity of an open flame. And no matter how many times she patted her thighs, the flames wouldn't give out.

The days went by as a blur, much like the open roads.

Maura couldn't even tell you which day it was, or how long they've ridden for.

And then there was Jane. For days now, she barely spoke. And the times she did, she kept it short and clipped. It was understandable, given the gravity of the situation, but at times, it acted as a poignant reminder for Maura of just how much she cared for her.

It was their fifth and final night. By sunrise, they should be in Hillard, Ohio. And from there, they would finally be able to catch a train to Chicago, Illinois.

They were camped on the outskirts of town.

Everybody was asleep. Everybody except Jane, that is. She hasn't been able to sleep for more than two, three hours during this five day trek. It wasn't so much the news of her father's death that bothered her, but the fact that he was now gone. She was all alone. And in that instant, it suddenly felt like she was transported back to her childhood once more. To Jane, it felt like she was reliving the death of her mother all over again, only this time, it was her father's turn. One by one, they each left her.

The trees rustled.

Jane immediately picked up her rifle.

It was only Maura.

At the sight of the doctor, Jane lowered her firearm. "You should catch some sleep before daybreak."

"I can always sleep on the train."

Jane simply shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Maura sat next to Jane on the log. Under the starlight, and the low glow of the campfire, it softened Jane's feature considerably. But that wasn't all. Maura has seen Jane's face many times over, but it's the first time she ever saw the undertone of torment in her eyes. It was raw.

"Has no one ever told you it's impolite to stare?"

Before she could help herself, Maura reached forth, and she gently brushed the heavy bags beneath Jane's eyes. The gesture was gentle, and her intentions pure.

"When's the last time you truly had a good night's rest?"

Jane grabbed Maura's stilled hands. "Don't."

"You cannot punish yourself for things you have no control over."

"Do not tell me what I can, and cannot do. You are nothing more than a physician, and at best, an acquaintance."

Maura refused to be shut out. "Say what you will. Hurt me if you must. But do not, for one second, think you are alone in all this."

"I am warning you, Maura."

"To think, people fear and revere you. And yet here you are, naïve and downright foolish, to internalize that pain by hurting yourself."

Jane pulled Maura by her wrist; their faces barely inches apart. "Are you quite done yet?"

Maura did not back down. "I haven't even started."

"Ahem."

It was Barry.

"I'll take over guard duties. Go get some shut eye."

"You know what, I just might." Jane tossed Barry her rifle. She refused to let Maura go. "Come on. Up. Let's go."

"What...where are we going?"

"To sleep. Just so you can shut up."

\- o -

The City of Chicago was divided into seven counties, and each, to a varying degree, was impacted by the blaze. The fire started on a Sunday, and burned for two whole days. By the time the fire had burned itself out, more than 300 people had died, up to 5000 buildings were destroyed, and more than 100,000 residents were left homeless.

The mortuary in Cook County was overwhelmed, to the point where they couldn't cope with the flood of bodies that passed through their doors. But that did little to sour Dr. Gregory House's mood; the Chief M.E of Cook County. The work was piled sky high. But it wasn't like the bodies were going anywhere anytime soon. He had his feet kicked up, whilst he enjoyed the morning newspaper. The media had named the fire: The Great Fire of Chicago. It was catchy, he had to admit, and that sold papers.

The doors to the morgue opened with a bang.

"Hey! You can't be in here!"

Jane grabbed Dr. House by the neck of his coat, and she shoved her revolver in his face. "The bodies from the Windsor hotel on DeKoven Street, where are they?"

Dr. House stuttered incoherently as he struggled to think.

Jane cocked her revolver. "Speak, now."

"They...they're in the library!"

Frankie, Barry, and Maura were in the hallway.

"The bodies are in the library."

"How can you be so certain, Janie?" Frankie asked. "For all you know, Father could've escape, and may be alive and well."

Jane heard not a single word.

The moment they entered the library, the pungent smell of rot and decay hit them in the face like a brick wall. The scent was nauseating and every bit as revolting. There were bodies piled everywhere, for as far as the eye could see.

Jane threw the covers off the first body. And the next. And the next. And the next.

Frankie and Barry followed suit.

Maura had no idea what Franklin Rizzoli looked like, so she didn't bother. Instead, she stuck close to Jane.

Each and every single one of the bodies were charred to a crisp. They were red, and shades of purple, with entire limbs the color of charcoal black. Some of the bodies were missing chunks of flesh by the pound. If the bodies still had their faces intact, then those were the lucky few.

One after the next, after the next, Jane appeared almost maniac like. And until she found what she was looking for, she had no intention of stopping. This went on for what felt like hours on end.

"Jane!"

It was Frankie.

Jane was almost afraid to approach the table.

"It's Father."

Jane threw the covers back. The body was burned beyond recognition. The eyes, nose and mouth were melted to the point of being one feature. There were no ears. The head still had a few strand of hair, and that was about it. But it wasn't the physicality that Jane recognized. No. There on his right hand, on the middle finger, was the Rizzoli ring. It was a gold ring with the Rizzoli coat of arms in the middle. It was a family heirloom that was passed on from one generation to the next. It was one of a kind. And it belonged to their father.

Jane tried to take the ring off, but the movement caused the entire finger to snap off.

Maura yelped.

Barry turned his head, and suppressed a gnarly burp.

Jane inspected the ring, though she already knew the brutal truth. "It's Father."

"My deepest condolences, Jane." Maura said. "You, too, Frankie."

Jane held the Rizzoli ring in the palm of her hand, and she squeezed it as hard as she could. If she exerted any more force, the ring would perforate her skin.

"Stay here. Get that incompetent doctor to release father's body to us."

"And where are you going?" Frankie asked.

"The Windsor hotel."

"Are you crazy?! We passed the hotel on our way here. The structural integrity has been compromised. It's most likely condemned."

"It's a deathtrap." Maura heeded. "There's nothing left."

They couldn't stop her. Jane's mind was made.

\- o -

The Windsor hotel was one of the grandest hotels the city had to offer. But now, it was nothing more than ruins. But even so, the structure held. The building stood tall amongst a pile of rubble and debris. Even though Jane hasn't seen her father for months now, they telegraphed on the daily. She knew exactly where he stayed.

The door to room #408 was completely gone. The floorboards were a deathtrap, Maura had that right. One misstep, and she'll fall four storeys to a bloody death. It was nerve-racking, and idiotic on her part. But still, her arrogance knew no bound. She had to see the place for herself. She needed to see the room where her father spent the last moments of his life.

The room was more or less gone. The wallpapers were painted soot black. There were only outlines of furniture that once was. The luxury suite that once was no longer than anything to offer.

Jane was done here. She didn't know what to expect, so she didn't expect much. She turned to leave, when the floorboard suddenly creaked dangerously. Jane stopped dead in her tracks. She slowly shifted her weight off that leg, and onto the other. And then ever so slowly, did she withdraw that foot.

The floor was hollow beneath. But that wasn't all. When Jane lifted her boot, there on the floor, was a note. The edges were burnt, but she was still able to make out the logo. It was Western Union. This wasn't just any note; this was a telegraph. The message body was gone.

There was something more.

Jane inspected the telegraph closely. She rubbed the soot off the edges. In the corner were the initials: R.T.P.

There was only one person Jane knew of that had those initials: Robbert Theon Pierce.

The fire wasn't an accident.

\- o -

 **A/N: If Hansel and Gretel can follow the breadcrumbs, then so can you.**


	6. Chapter 6: The Bigger Picture

**CH 6: The Bigger Picture**

 **Warning: offensive language reflective of the time and culture.**

\- o -

It wasn't supposed to be like this. This wasn't what she planned for, not in a million years. And yet, like a cruel joke life has played on her, it has.

Angela did not, and could not, bring herself to believe that Frank was gone. When Tommy first broke the news to her, she couldn't come to grips with what happened. All she remembered was how the room swooned beneath her feet. And when she finally came to, Jane and Frankie had already departed for Chicago, Illinois.

Like all marriages, they had their ups and downs. But they've never, not in their twenty four years of marriage, gone to bed angry; they always made up. And now, just like that, Frank was gone. Angela was understandably upset. But she wasn't the one to take it the hardest. From what Frankie has told her via telegraph, Jane had took the news of Frank's passing the hardest. Angela had no doubt about that. And it was one of the reasons why she hated Jane; she was irreplaceable in Frank's eyes, and vice versa.

Frankie described Chicago as being chaotic. Even the Boston Daily was reporting on the fire; the Great Chicago Fire, they called it. It was ironic. There was nothing great about that fire. Nothing at all.

With Jane and Frankie out the house, Tommy was the only Rizzoli left to hold down the fort. If there ever was a sign from God, this was it. If there was ever a time to make her move, it was now. With Frank and Jane gone, and Frankie — the sympathizer — away, too, it was time to put her plans into action.

But given the tragedy and unexpectedness of it all, it complicated matters. Angela needed support. A flimsy will — a forgery, no less — wasn't going to cut it. She needed the backing of a powerhouse if this coup was to work. And she had just the man in the mind. But it wasn't going to be easy. And it sure as Hell was going to cost her more than just money.

\- o -

They were scheduled to depart for Boston the day after tomorrow. There was, literally, nothing left in this anarchic, God forsaken city. Before they made their long and treacherous trek back home, there were three things they, collectively, agreed upon must be completed before such a time. The first and foremost: an autopsy.

The morgue in Cook County had the proper equipments, and with plenty of coins, and a pistol whip courtesy of Jane, Dr. Gregory House agreed to assist Maura with her ambitious endeavor.

"Where did you say you practiced, again?"

"The University of Paris, if you must know. I studied, exclusively, under the mentorship of Dr. Charcot."

"Wait! You studied under Dr. Jean-Martin Charcot? The world renowned neurologist, and the father of pathology?"

"The one and only."

Jane wasn't in the mood for small talk, nor chit-chat. "Can we, please, get on with it?"

Everything was prepped and ready to go. But there was one last thing Maura had to address, "Before we begin, Jane, I must warn you: what you are about to witness is graphic and, at times, unbearable, especially for the next of kin. Given the extent of the damage, we'll first have to desflesh the body. A process also known as maceration."

"Do what you must. I trust you, Maura."

Maura understood that that trust didn't come easily, or naturally, to Jane. And she valued that trust, which was why she gave this autopsy her everything.

The process maceration was painstaking. And for Jane, just plain painful. For her to watch the remains of her father be manhandled, and ultimately dismembered, it made her ache with grief. But it was necessary. She swore to God, and all that is Holy, that she'll repay the favor by a hundred folds. In order for that to happen, she had to first know the truth.

Maura took her time. Nothing could be rushed for one wrong move, and the entire procedure will fail miserably. The body had to be skinned firstly, then defleshed. In the process, all internal organs are removed. They didn't have the luxury of time, so they couldn't use an emulsifier to melt the soft tissues and fatty acid from the bones. It had to be done by hand.

By the end of a strenuous six hour process, Maura had finally reconstructed all 206 bones, and laid them in their proper anatomical position.

"It's done."

Jane stepped forward from the shadows. Her father, Franklin Thomas Rizzoli, was reduced to nothing more than a pile of bones.

Dr. House was clammy, and two shades of white. "I really need to...to sit this one out, Dr. Isles. I...I..."

A stream of projectile vomit spewed from Dr. House's ashen lips.

Jane grabbed the incompetent doctor by his lab coat, and she tossed him out of his own laboratory. She wasn't a doctor, by any means, but she was literate and that was good enough. "I'll take notes."

Maura started from the head, downwards. "The skull has obvious signs of trauma. The cause of death was most likely a single gunshot wound to the head."

Jane jotted everything done.

"The wound was initially masked by the charred and blackened flesh. Based on the size of the wound, it appears the entry was via supine."

"In layman's term?"

"Your father was facing the shooter when he was shot."

It wasn't noticeable, but Jane's nostrils flared, and her hands balled tight.

"But there's more." Maura flipped the skull over to reveal the backside — the occipital bun. "There's an exit wound."

"And why is that of interest?"

"The entry wound is the size of a half-dime. But the exit wound practically blew the entire cranium apart. To shatter the skull into tiny bits of microscopic proportion requires a lot of force. This is pertinent for it tells me, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the shot was made at close range."

Jane could barely keep her hand stable enough to write; they shook with rage.

"There are no obvious signs of trauma to the radius and ulna conducive to self defense."

The implication was crystal clear. "So my father was either incapacitated at the time, or he knew the shooter."

"My thoughts precisely."

There was only one person that met those criteria. Her father wasn't in Boston alone. And he was the killer.

\- o -

It was the dead of night. The mansion was in Springfield, Massachusetts, in a quiet suburb. The residents here were unlike the Bostonians you often see, out and about at all hours of the day. The city folks were a rambunctious bunch, and the residents here were the complete opposite.

The inhabitants were blissfully asleep, until they were rudely awakened.

The door knocker pounded against the hardwood door.

The butler, begrudgingly, threw on a coat, and made the short trek to the front of house.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Coming!"

The door flew open.

"Burt! I need an audience."

"Have you lost your marbles, Mr. Goodman?! It's two in the morning!"

"It's an emergency."

"If you have a death wish, then so be it." Burt stepped aside. "You know the way."

Lukas Goodman hurried up the stairs, straight to the master suite. He knew the house like the back of his hand. Even without the presence of an illumination, it posed no difficulty. He banged on the suite door, repeatedly.

When the door finally came undone, the first words were, "Good Lord, Lukas! Have you any idea what time it is?!"

"I do, Sir, but it's an emergency that requires your immediate attention." Lukas handed him a telegraph. "This just arrived. Cook County officially listed one of our residences as being deceased from the Great Chicago Fire."

"And what, pray tell, does that have to do with us?"

"It's Franklin Rizzoli, Sir. He's one of the causalities." Lukas reiterated. "Frank's dead."

The sleep evaporated from his being at the bombshell revelation. "Good Lord."

"What would you have us do, Sir?"

"We leave for Boston come sunrise, post-haste."

"Yes, Sir."

"And, Lukas, keep this visit discreet, yes?"

"Of course."

Sean Cavanaugh didn't like to meddle in other people's affairs, but he didn't have a choice, not with this, he didn't. His intervention was necessary, for if he didn't, a full blown storm was bound to ensue.

\- o -

There was no way they would be able to transport their father's skeleton back home, not in a dignified manner, they couldn't. Which was why Jane and Frankie agreed to have their father's remains cremated. And when the time came, they'll lay him to rest in their family plot, along with their ancestors.

They were born and raised Roman Catholics. In accordance with the funeral rites of the Catholic Church, their father's body was to be buried intact. Cremation was against their canon laws. But they didn't exactly have a choice, so they met their religion half way; they had the Archbishop officiate the ceremony.

Jane, Frankie, and Maura watched as the raging inferno consumed the casket, and with it, Franklin Thomas Rizzoli.

They said a silent prayer.

When the cremation ended, Jane and Frankie collected the bones and ash of their father, and placed it into an urn. The Archbishop recited a petition, his final blessing. "May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace."

"Amen."

The cremation was the second last thing on their to-do list. And now, time to tick off the last and final item. There was a reason Barry was absent for the ceremony.

Franklin Rizzoli didn't come to Chicago alone; he had with him his help.

The void of silence was filled with, yet another, blood curdling scream.

Barry pounded the nail until it entered one end, and exited out the other. The entire right hand was nailed down.

"Fuck!"

"Don't fight this, Adell."

Adell spat in Barry's face. "You betray your own kin for the likes of them! They will never treat you as an equal, you hear me?! You bring shame upon your family, and all your ancestors before you!"

Barry could've retaliated violently to the physical and verbal abuse, but he didn't. They weren't close, but they've crossed paths countlessly times before while working for the Rizzolis. Adell served only Frank Rizzoli, while he was assigned to Jane. And unlike Frank, Barry knew, unequivocally, Jane saw and treated him as an equal. The same couldn't be said about Adell.

"You shot and killed your master, Adell. It's punishable by death. But I know Jane will show you leniency if you simply tell the truth."

"You can take that sympathy, and shove it up your arse, you traitorous nigger!"

"Move aside, Barold."

It was Frankie.

"We caught you at the train station. Why were you running?"

Adell spat in Frankie's face. "Fuck you, you ginzo!"

Frankie delivered back to back strikes. Again and again, and again.

"We both know you don't have the bullocks, nor the brains, to pull off something as sophisticated as this. So tell us, who?!"

Adell was dazed and bloodied. But his lips held firm.

A hammer materialized in Frankie's hand. The hammer head came down with force, and it crushed Adell's index finger to a bloody pulp.

And on cue, yet another ear-piercing scream.

"We found your pistol, you dumb son of a bitch! Niggers can't own firearms, so you want to tell me where you got that brand spanking new Smith & Wesson No# 3 from, huh?!"

No reply.

The hammer head took out the thumb, this time.

This went back and forth, until Adell's entire right hand was rendered invalid. All the digits were reduced to skin and bones.

It was violent. And grotesque. Maura was simply horrified by what she saw. And when she could bear no more of Frankie's barbaric ways, she stepped in, only to be held back by Jane.

"Do not interfere."

"You can't do this."

"You are in no position to intervene."

"This isn't right, and you know that! That's a human being!"

"No. He's a slave. And our property." Jane said coldly. "Frankie is well within his rights."

Maura was appalled by Jane's coldhearted reply. But she was powerless to help.

"You ungrateful, sambo bitch!" Frankie yanked on his hair, and at which point he drew his knife. "I ought to cut you open, and watch you bleed."

"So why aren't you?"

"Your wife's Brinda, right?" Frankie asked rhetorically. "But I don't seem to recall your daughter's name."

The mere mention of his wife and child elicited an unexpected response from Adell. For the very first time, a look of fear drew heavily across his weathered face.

"A good death is a reward in itself. And you, you backstabbing, cocksucking nigger, is not deserving of such." Frankie drew the blade ever so lightly across his neck. "You will stand trial for you what you've done. And when they find you guilty, they will condemn you, your wife and that baby girl of yours, to the same fate. I'll be sure to hang them firstly, so you can watch from the gallows below as your loved ones die before your very eyes. Then, and only then, will you fully grasp what it feels like to lose a loved one."

The hardened expression on Adell's face softened unexpectedly.

The change was subtle. But noticeable. Jane knew what was to come next. She wrapped an arm around Maura's shoulder, and she pulled her head into the crook of her neck, away from it all.

In one fluid, and daring motion, Adell slammed his neck down onto the blade, and drew it across his neck. The bleed was instantaneous. Blood poured from the gaping wound with the force of a geyser.

"I...I will not..." Adell gurgled painfully as he struggled to speak, "...give...give you...the satisfaction..."

Two minutes. That was the amount of time it took for a grown man like Adell to bleed out.

"Fuck!" Frankie whipped his knife across the room. "Motherfucker!"

Maura made the unfortunate decision to sneak a peek. And she immediately regretted doing so. Adell may have been a murderer, but he didn't deserve to be tortured, nor did he deserve to have his dignity stripped. And to think, Jane could've just as easily stepped in, and stopped the madness before it even began, but she didn't. And that's when Maura realized the grave error of her ways.

"Let's head back. We'll rest up for the night. And we'll head out come morning."

Maura was blinded by her naïvety. This was the real Jane Rizzoli

\- o -

In a city like Boston, where everybody practically knew everybody, it was near impossible to remain hidden in the shadows, especially if the color of your skin drew unwanted attention. But them managed. They shied away from crowded areas. This past month alone, they pitched a makeshift tent on the outskirts of town near the woodland area for fear of discovery. But no more. Today was the 15th. They've made it.

With an inconspicuous straw hat, Brinda hide her face from the general crowd. She held Laurie close. They didn't have much. They were able to fit their worldly possession into a tattered old suitcase. The appointment was scheduled for noontime. They've been here since nine o'clock this morning. They've seen a dozen ships come and go in the meantime. They already had two tickets secured to take them to Nova Scotia in Canada. The black community have long heard of Nova Scotia, and the safe haven it provided for slaves. Till now, they've been nothing more than rumors. But Brinda didn't care. They had to leave. If they stayed, the Rizzolis were going to have them lynched.

A small child Brinda has never seen before, tugged on her underskirt, and handed her an envelope.

Inside the dirty envelope was $1000. That was more than enough for them to start anew. But that wasn't all. Folded twice over, were two deeds. They were public slave registrations. The registration was for her, and her daughter. Now that they had the registrations, it meant they were no longer condemned to a life of servitude.

They were finally free people.

\- o -

There was still much to do before the grand opening of the casino. But Katherine could not bring herself to concentrate, for her thoughts would always return to Jane, and every so often, that doctor, Maura Isles. It wasn't Jane she was truly worried about for she had the utmost trust in her, it was the doctor that was the cause for concern. She did not trust that wretched twat, nor that innocent façade she has built. Katherine saw right through her. Something needed to be done, she just wasn't quite sure what yet.

By now, news of Franklin Rizzoli's death was the talk of the town. It was mostly gossip, rumors, and chit-chat. But there were also talks of fratricide, sororicide, matricide, and whatever -cide you can possibly think of. It wasn't a well kept secret that the Rizzoli siblings, particularly Jane and Frankie, did not get along. There were talks about who would take the reins, and assume control of the vast clandestine empire built by the late Rizzoli.

Katherine had the uttermost confidence in Jane's abilities, but the fact of the matter is, she was a woman. And they lived in a repressive time where society viewed women as being inferior to men. It wasn't fair, nor was it just, but it was a fact of life. Given the circumstances, Frankie would most likely assume a leadership role, and Tommy a distance second, with Jane being placed last, if that. Angela might try to angle her way in, and isolate Jane even more so from the family business. It was uncertain. But it certainly won't be Jane at the helm.

It was well past noontime. And Katherine needed a drink. She crossed the foyer and headed for the stairs, when she heard what sounded like glass breaking, followed up muffled grunts. It came from her father's study. And that's when Katherine panicked.

Katherine quickly rushed back, and she threw open his study door without knocking. But her father wasn't alone; Angela Rizzoli was also present. And they were, in what appears to be, a scuffle of sorts; it was difficult to tell, nor did she really want to, for that matter.

"Are you well, Father?"

"I'm fine, Katherine." Robbert reassured. "Please, leave us."

Katherine threw Angela Rizzoli a passing glance, but not once did she acknowledge her presence.

Katherine closed the door behind her. She didn't know what to make of this. To the best of her knowledge, she had no idea her father and Angela knew each other on a personal level.

This could not be coincidental. Something told Katherine this had something to do with the brewing storm that is the Rizzoli crisis. The question was: what did her father have to do with anything?

\- o -

"I've added an extra button like you've requested."

Tommy gave the vest a try. And to his surprise, he looked, well, dashing.

"The trousers are far too long, Gunther." Lydia remarked. "They need another inch off."

"Beg pardon, Lady Rizzoli, but if I take any more off, the trousers would not be able to cover the socks. It's not proper dress etiquette for a gentleman of your husband's stature."

Lydia was going to rebuttal, but Tommy put an end to his mouthy wife. "Please, Lydia, Gunther's been our tailor for decades. If he says it's proper, then let it be."

"Hmph."

Tommy growled with annoyance at his wife's childish behavior, in public no less. "Would you excuse us, Gunther?"

"Certainly."

"What is the matter with you?" Tommy asked irritatingly. "Is it so much to ask you to behave with proper etiquette befitting of a lady such as yourself?"

Lydia was steaming. "What? Suddenly I'm not lady-like enough for you, Thomas?"

"I don't want to get into a row with you."

"Then don't start one!"

"You're not even supposed to be here. You're supposed to be on house arrest, given everything you've put Teresa through. You should thank your lucky stars Frankie wasn't here. He would put you in your place for weeks to come."

Lydia scoffed, "Much of a husband you are. Can't even protect your own wife."

"I will not take sides, particularly yours, since you're in the wrong. You're the one that clobbered Teresa. If it weren't for Mother and her pleas, your arse would be in county jail, and not here."

Lydia rolled her eyes childishly.

"Will you, please, excuse yourself and let me get on with this fitting? My presence is required elsewhere after this, so I need to get this done."

Lydia did not need to be told twice.

Finally, peace and quiet.

All that was missing was the tailcoat. Tommy threw that on, and his ensemble was complete. He stood in front of the full length mirror, and he tightened his tie, and straightened his collar.

Tommy admired the reflection before him. And slowly, the corners of his mouth curled, and a devilishly smile graced his lips.

\- o -

 **A/N: So many siblings, so much drama, all day, every day.**


	7. Chapter 7: Sex, Rape, and Hate

**CH 7: Sex, Rape, and Hate**

 **Warning: offensive language reflective of the time and culture.**

\- o -

The Grand Duchess Casino. It was the name they finally settled upon. And now, finally, after years of labor intensive workmanship, an embarrassing amount spent on bribes, and a Hail Mary, the casino was unveiled to the public.

News of the grand opening attracted people from far and wide, and it was a spectacle, indeed. The ribbon ceremony was one of the finest and most luxurious inaugurations in the history of Boston. Guests and spectators were treated to glasses upon glasses of champagne and the finest delicacies money could buy.

At the front and center of the ceremony stood Robbert Pierce, Casey Jones, and Tommy Rizzoli. They each took turn giving a little speech, though it was doubtful the audience paid much attention; they weren't exactly here to listen to their nonsensical ramblings.

At the conclusion, Robbert announced, "Let the good times roll!"

The crowd erupted in jubilation. And a mob of people rushed the door to get inside.

For one day only, drinks were on the house to draw not only crowds of spectators, but actual patrons. It was Robbert's idea. And Tommy was the first to agree. But Casey was less than enthused, but eventually, he, too, gave in — it wasn't like he couldn't afford it. Everything from ale to beer, and even some of the town's finest whiskeys, it was all you can drink. And you can bet your sweet arse, people took advantage of that.

Angela and Lydia were dressed in the finest gowns money could buy. Despite their recent loss and tragedy, they put up a strong front. They were Rizzoli women, and they played the part spectacularly.

Tommy, unlike his wife and mother, wore his heart on his sleeve. He was truly saddened by the passing of his father, and with Jane and Frankie gone, he was now the man of the house; something he wasn't used to. He couldn't bring himself to go about like it was business as usual. It wasn't. While the rest of the world enjoyed themselves, Tommy kept the interaction on a social level as opposed to personal.

"You look dashing, Tommy."

It was Katherine Pierce.

"Thank you. You look marvelous yourself."

Katherine had opted for a traditional Victorian waist gown; it was conservative and modest, given her wealth and stature.

"Have you heard from Jane?"

Tommy shifted uncomfortably. He, and only a handful of others, knew the true nature of Jane and Katherine's relationship. He honestly didn't mind, but others weren't as open minded nor forgiving.

"Tommy?"

"I have not heard from Jane since her departure for Chicago. But I have received word from Frankie, on the daily, actually. They're due back in the next few days, if I'm not mistaken."

Katherine nodded. "I heard about your father. My condolences."

"Thank you."

"He would be immensely proud of you today, Tommy. You carried yourself with grace, and eloquence befitting of his lasting legacy on this city."

"Your words are much too kind." Tommy said with reddened cheeks. "Your father speaks of you in the highest regards, too, if my memory serves me correct."

"That I do." Robbert wrapped an arm around Katherine's waist. "My daughter is the embodiment of all the finest characteristics the Pierce line has to offer."

Robbert Theon Pierce look every bit the suave gentlemen with his fine black suit. The smile he bore was not something you see often. Given the occasion, it would appear he, too, was having quite a blast.

"Father." Katherine kissed him on the cheek. "That was a lovely speech you gave."

"Thank you, darling." Robbert continued, "Would you be so kind as to keep an eye on Casey? The last I saw of him, he's already had his fill."

"Certainly." Katherine gave a curtsey. "Excuse me."

Tommy dreaded Katherine's departure. Robber Pierce had an intimidating air to him; he was not someone you made small talk with.

"You did well today, son."

"Thank you."

"An opportunity arose, and you seized it. This is your moment, Thomas, bask in it whilst it last."

"I...well, okay."

Robbert patted Tommy, rather roughly. "Relax, son. We're equal partners in this endeavor. I need to know that if I should be absent, that I can count on you."

"You have Katherine."

"She's a woman. Her place isn't here." Robbert said matter-of-factly. "I need to know that you're dependable, should I give you more responsibilities in the near future."

"You can." Angela answered. "Tommy's ready. All he truly needs is guidance, and perhaps a mentor. If you're willing to fill those shoes, Robbert, then it'll be Tommy's honor, won't it?"

"But of course." Tommy lied. "It would be my honor."

"Say no more, then." Robbert raised his glass. "Cheers."

"Cheers."

"Cheers."

\- o -

The Grand Duchess was the talk of town. Their opening was a success. They even went so far as to hire a live band to perform. The ambiance, combined with the free drinks, attracted people from all walks of life, from merchants, politicians, bankers, to even free people.

Lydia, for the first time ever, was proud to be a Rizzoli, and most of all, Tommy's wife. She's had her doubts over the years, what with his introvert personality and his lack of ambition, but she pegged him wrong. When the time came for him to step up, he did so in a grand display.

Lydia indulged, and let loose. She drank one cocktail too many. But it wasn't a cause for concern, for she was on Tommy's arm the entire evening. But one drink too many, and Lydia found herself in need of the toilet.

"Excuse me."

Lydia headed upstairs to the second floor, where only members and VIPs were allowed access. The private lavatory was bound to be better than the cesspool downstairs.

The door barely creaked open when a body shoved her inside, and a bear paw muffled her screams.

Lydia fought back the best she could, but her positioning was less than ideal. The attacker was far too burly and strong for her to overpower, much less retaliate. The attacker used his body weight to keep her down, and bent over the marble counter.

No words were exchanged.

The attacker hiked her dress up, and before Lydia could even bring herself to react properly, with one upward thrust, he penetrated her from behind. The bear paw remained firmly gripped over her mouth, so not even a peep was heard.

The burly body rocked his hips against her roughly, violently, and swiftly. This wasn't sex. This was rape. And he made damn sure of that, when he kept her down and submissive, while pounding against her forcefully.

Every so often, he tickled her ear with his hot breath. The musk of sweat was pungent. The dirt and human filth was felt upon his manhood, and now, Lydia bore that disgusting grime upon her own flesh.

The attacker upped his tempo, leaned forward, and he came inside her.

Lydia laid completely motionless; she feared for her life.

A sturdy voice said, "You best know your place, sweet mayflower, or you'll be seeing me again real soon."

The door opened, and closed.

Lydia fell off the counter, and laid there paralyzed on the floor. She couldn't move.

\- o -

The train ride from Chicago, Illinois to Hillard, Ohio was a two day trek.

They bought two tickets for their first class carriage. They occupied two cabinets each. Barry was with Frankie, while Maura, to her immense displeasure, shared the other with Jane.

It was evident Maura's attitude towards Jane has soured. Maura kept mostly to herself. Every so often, she would trade words with Barry, even Frankie, but not a single word towards Jane.

Jane understood where Maura was coming from, she did, but she refused to apologize nor admit culpability. She did no wrong, and she'll be damned if she apologized for doing the right thing. Adell was a treacherous bastard that deserved everything he had coming to him. Jane stood by her conviction, regardless of what Maura thought.

The cabinet was small, with just enough space for two wall beds on opposing ends. The lavatory was located on polar ends of the train. And that was about it. Unless absolutely necessary, they stayed in their quarters.

Jane sat in her bunk, and she simply stared out the window to pass the time.

An attendant knocked, and left two bowls just outside their door.

It was noontime already. And their lunch was served.

Jane went to collect their meal. It was, yet again, watery leek stew. It wasn't anything substantial, but it'll definitely do. She set the lukewarm bowl by Maura's bunk.

Jane took in a spoonful of the wretched stew. It was revolting. But it was all they had.

Maura kept her eyes on her book, and paid Jane no mind.

"You have to eat at some point, Maura. It's been two days since you've had anything."

Maura said nothing.

"If you push yourself to the point of being famished, you'll never survive the ride." Jane lectured. "So eat, woman."

Maura swallowed a lump in her throat, yet gave no indication she heard any of that.

Jane bit down on her thumb as she did her best to suppress her anger. "Please, eat something."

Nothing.

That was the last straw. Jane yanked Maura off her bunk, and she shoved her against the wall. "Was it not you that said once told me not to punish yourself over matters you have no control over? Yet here you are, willing abstinence from food when you and I both know you won't survive the trek whilst famished."

"Let go of me!"

"No! You will heed my words, and eat."

"Do not presume you can tell me what I can, and can't do!" Maura seethed with anger. "I am not your slave, nor will you throw commands at me. I am your equal. And you shall show me the respect I rightly deserve."

"What consequences, do you reckon, will befall me should I choose to turn a deaf ear to your request?"

"Don't push me, Jane."

Jane and Maura were locked in a staring match. They, both, refused to step down. Their anger was at an all-time high; their laborious breaths filled the void of the cabinet.

And then it happened.

Jane crushed down upon Maura, and capture her lips for a kiss. The kiss wasn't tender, nor was it sweet. It was rough. And it was urgent.

Maura's lips were still at first, but after the initial shock had washed away, she returned that kiss feverously.

Jane captured Maura's hands, and placed them high above her head. She didn't want Maura to touch her. No. She was in control. And she wanted to dominate her.

Light sensual moans escaped Maura's parted lips.

With every kiss, Jane could feel herself fall deeper and deeper into the pits of desire. She was going to lose control, and soon. With reluctance, Jane pulled away and she peered into those vibrant green eyes.

"Do you want this, Maura?" Jane asked candidly. "If you want this to go no further, then say so now."

Maura stared Jane in the eyes, and she searched for something, anything, that told her that the real Jane Rizzoli, the woman she knew and, perhaps, fell for was in there somewhere.

"I will take your silence as refusal, then."

Jane released Maura from her clutches, and turned away, only to be pulled back in my a set of strong hands. Maura said not a single word. This time, it was her that initiated the kiss. She kissed Jane with the fiery passion she's felt in her loins ever since she first laid eyes on the raven beauty.

Jane cupped Maura's breast through the fabrics of her shirt. They were small but supple. They contoured perfectly into the palm of her hands.

Maura has never done this before, man or woman. And she had not the faintest clue as to what to do, but a primitive instinct in her awoke, and it placed her body on autopilot. Maura grinded her hips against Jane.

Jane drew her left hand away from the supple mount, and she slipped it into Maura's trousers. She parted her undergarment with ease. To her surprise, Maura was sopping wet, to the point where her palm was glazed in love juice just from mere contact.

"Throw your arms around my neck." Jane whispered tenderly. "And buckle your hips."

Maura nodded, and did as she was told.

Jane positioned herself just outside of Maura, and with her thigh as leverage, she inserted two digits into Maura's opening. The insertion was slow. Jane rocked, ever so slightly, against the desirable flesh, all the while placing kisses on her collarbone.

Maura held onto Jane for dear life, for at this moment, she had no usage of her legs. The sensation was painful. But under that veneer of pain, was sweet pleasure. It felt good. It felt oh so good. Her hips rocked with the rhythm of Jane, and together, their bodies danced as one.

Maura swayed her hips against those digits. She had no idea what she was doing, only that it felt good. And that sense of pleasure continued to intensify, to the point where the pressure built within her walls was palpable.

Jane knew Maura was close. She couldn't help herself. Jane bit down on Maura's shoulder.

Maura grunted loudly, and hoarsely. She squeezed her legs tight, and she clamped down on Jane's fingers to seek sweet release. She rocked her hips until she felt the digits dig out every last ripple that coursed through her body. At that moment, the ecstasy that washed over her was unlike anything she's ever felt before. By the time it passed, the tickling sensation was felt in her toes.

Jane collapsed into Maura; her breath caught in her throat. Before her climax, Maura was already thoroughly aroused, evident from the love juice she produced. But after that orgasm, the level of wetness doubled, which wasn't unusual, so Jane thought nothing of it.

Slowly, Jane lowered Maura back down, and she withdrew her left hand. What she saw startled her. Her hand was covered in love juice, but that wasn't all, there was blood.

Jane knew what this meant. Maura had been deflowered. She had claimed Maura's virginity.

\- o -

Founded in 1784, The Massachusetts National Bank was one of the first and foremost banks in the entire state. They were a financial powerhouse that held a monopoly in the state. And though the notion of banking was still a foreign concept to many, the Massachusetts National Bank had an enrollment rate of more than 28% of the total population of Massachusetts, and that said a lot.

It was a Saturday, and the branch at the Old State House was closed for the weekend. But the owner made an exception for this particular guest.

"This is highly unorthodox, and may be construed as criminal, even for you, Mr. Governor."

"I've already given you the proper paperwork, Mr. Lennox. And its authentication has been verified. I don't understand what more needs to be said."

"You're neither the account holder, nor an authorized user, Mr. Governor."

"My patience is wearing thin with your pussy-footing. I will not ask you again. You are to freeze the assets, and place the entire account on lockdown. No one, and I mean no one, without my prior approval, may have access to the account in question. Do I make myself clear, Burt?"

Burt Lennox wasn't a fool, nor foolish by any means. He knew better than to pick a fight with the Governor of Massachusetts.

"Consider it done, then."

"Thank you."

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Governor."

Sean Cavanaugh left the bank with one less thing on his to-do list.

\- o -

The Jones family were a British noble family. They were direct descendants of King George II through his eldest daughter, Anne, Princess Royal and Princess of Orange. And the Jones family carried that nobility with pride.

Charles was the oldest and only son of William and Louisa Jones. He had a younger sister overseas, in Waterford, Ireland. They weren't exactly close but she was the only family he has left, and vice versa. They wrote each other frequently. Her presence was expected in the coming month or so, for she needed to be here when he finally tied the knot with Katherine.

The Grand Duchess Casino was Casey's proudest investment to date. He's had many dealings, many of them less than glorious, and some were downright criminal, but this, this was grand and noteworthy, unlike anything he's done before. And that sense of elation and pride was the real reason Casey let his guard down tonight, and truly enjoyed himself.

By the time the doors closed, Casey needed to be escorted home. And Katherine was right there by his side. She was a good woman. And Casey knew that one day, she would be his; and he'll make an honest woman out of her yet.

Katherine kept to herself for majority of the ride.

"You look marvelous today, darling." Casey cooed. "You're simply stunning."

Katherine forced a smile.

Casey grabbed Katherine's hand, only for her to yank it away.

"Please don't, Casey."

"Is it so wrong for me to want physical contact with my betrothed?" Casey peeved. "You've been usually cold and distance with me. Why is that?"

"Now's not the time, Casey."

The carriage came to a stop. Two helpers came and assisted Casey out the carriage, and up those troublesome stairs.

"Mary Ann. Would you be so kind and wring a hot towel for me?"

"At once, Lady Pierce."

Katherine found Casey sprawled in bed like a baby, with his dirty clothes still on. She could've left him be, but she didn't. Katherine felt like she owed Casey, for her deceit and betrayal. It was guilt; she stayed out of guilt.

Katherine undid his necktie, firstly.

"You smell so good."

"Behave yourself, Charles." Katherine said sternly. "Or I'll leave you to wallow in your own filth."

Casey shot up, and pulled Katherine down on the bed with him. "We've been together for years, yet you deny me the most basic pleasures of a man, Katherine. Please. Just this once."

Katherine could feel his arousal stir, and press up against her. It was nauseating. "I said no, Casey."

"I yearn for just a taste." Casey buried his lips on her neck, and his hips began to grind against her body. "Your smell is intoxicating."

Katherine pushed him away to no avail.

Casey unzipped his fly, and with one tug, he exposed his hardened manhood. "Just this once, Katherine. I want to feel the warmth between your thighs. Please."

"I said no!" Katherine brought her leg up, and kneed him in the groin. "Pathetic!"

Casey howled in pain, and relinquished his grasp.

Katherine stormed off.

That jolt of pain brought clarity to Casey's inebriated mind. And that's when he realized the grave error of his ways. Katherine wasn't a whore he could take, right then and there. But the mistake was made. And he was going to pay dearly for it later.

Mary Ann knocked on the door. "I have your towel, Sir."

Casey was hard. And the throbbing in his penis hasn't dulled. It was pulsating with a heartbeat of its own, and it was in dire need of relief, regardless of who the recipient may be. Casey threw the door open, and he yanked Mary Ann in. He threw her down onto the bed.

Mary Ann yelped, but didn't protest nor resist; Casey Jones was her master, and he was entitled to do as he pleased with his property, even if that included herself.

Casey spat on his fingers, and he moistened the tip of his cock. He positioned himself just outside of her. Then in one imposing display of strength and dominance, he tore into her opening.

Casey fucked Mary Ann feverishly, but in his mind, all he could picture was Katherine. When the time came, he was going to ruin her for weeks. By the time he was thoroughly done with her, she won't be able to so much as stand, so help him God.

\- o -

The hospital provided her with a private room.

Teresa laid on her back, and she stared into the ceiling. Her right cheek throbbed with pain. The wound was deep. And it required stitches. But even then, during the first few days, it became infected. The doctor had to prescribe a course of bloodletting, followed by leeches.

If everything goes well, Teresa was due to be discharged in a day or two.

Since her admittance, all Teresa could think about was Lydia, and what a vindictive cunt she was. Because of her, she missed the grand opening of the casino. Lydia has finally gotten what she truly wanted: the spotlight all to herself.

The hatred she harbored for that woman was boundless.

Teresa was not going to let this slide.

This wasn't over.

\- o -

The township of Hilllard was home to a population of only 55,000. It wasn't exactly prosperous, but it wasn't a squalid town, either. The town had three inns, with a combined vacancy of a hundred rooms.

When they finally disembarked from their train, night had long fallen. In lieu of camping, they decided to spend a proper night, and rest up for the long trek they had ahead. Imagine their surprise when the two largest inns in Hillard were fully occupied. They had not an extra room to spare. There were no conventions nor parties in town. But the innkeeper kept a straight face and told them to move along.

The last and final inn was a rather shady place, but it had the vacancy they sought. They had exactly two vacancies available. They split themselves up, and headed off for the evening.

Since their indiscretion, things had gotten awkward between Jane and Maura. Maura wasn't cold, and she most certainly didn't ignore Jane, not anymore, but she wasn't her usual self either. And Jane, well, she retreated into her shell, and hasn't reemerged since.

The room was about the same size as their train cabinet. But instead of two beds, there was only one twin size mattress, and that was it.

Maura was already situated comfortably in bed.

Jane hasn't yet decided if she wanted to share a bed, or take the floor. On one hand, a nice comfy bed was most welcomed, but she didn't want Maura to misconstrue the gesture as an invite to a relationship. She didn't want Maura to get any mixed signals.

"I'll take the floor tonight."

Maura looked up and gave Jane an unreadable look, and then went back to her book.

They called it a night.

It was well into the early morning, when Jane felt the floorboards vibrate. It she hadn't bunked on the floor, she would've never felt the subtle vibration. It felt like heavy footsteps, from multiple boots, and they were treading in the hallway.

Jane stayed perfectly still, and she monitored the situation.

The footsteps were prominent. And this time, it felt like they were gathered just outside their door.

Jane quickly rushed over to Maura.

Maura was startled awake when she felt a hand muffled over her mouth. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

"Shhhh. It's me." Jane whispered. "We have company. Whatever happens, I want you to stay behind me. Got it?"

Maura nodded.

Jane grabbed her revolver, and braced herself. She wasn't going to die here. And neither was Maura, or any of them, for that matter.

The footsteps stilled. And the doorknob rattled.

\- o -

 **A/N: "A true man would never force himself upon a woman. A true man would force her hand instead." Said no one ever.**


	8. Chapter 8: The Revenant

**CH 8: The Revenant**

 **Warning: offensive language reflective of the time and culture.**

\- o -

The morning had started out like any other. It was his off day, so Tommy found himself alone in his study, preoccupied with this and that, with everything and yet with nothing at all. To a certain degree, his family — particularly his mother — was right. He lacked ambition sometimes, but not because he lacked interest. No. When the time was right, all will be revealed, but until then, Tommy had other things to occupy his time.

Those in his family, and those closest to him will know, Tommy was different, not just from his siblings, but people in general. For one thing, Tommy had an odd fixation about his feet. And he was also incredibly well read, too. His interest encompassed a wide range of subjects from philosophy to military tactics, to harlequin romance. Whatever the subject matter may be, as long as it was a good read, he'll make time for it.

Tommy had his feet kicked up on his desk, whilst completely submerged in a copy of 'The Great Expectation'. The synopsis wasn't the least bit riveting, but the recent news of Charles Dickens' passing has struck a chord with him. And so he couldn't help but indulge in his last pièce de résistance. And he was not disappointed.

A knocked sounded.

"Come in."

"Master Thomas. It's noontime."

"Shit." Tommy had completely forgotten. "Where is Lydia?"

"She should still be in her quarters."

"Thank you, Nina. That will be all."

Today was the day Teresa was to be discharged from the hospital. Angela made a point to have the whole family present, as a sign of good gesture, so Teresa and Lydia could put whatever silly feud they had behind them.

Tommy put on his boots, and made a mad dash to his master suite. There he found Lydia exactly where he left her this morning, more than six hours ago.

"Are you well, darling?"

"I'm fine."

"Come. It's noontime. Today's the day of Teresa's discharge, or have you forgotten?"

"Give me a moment, and I'll be with you."

The softness in Lydia's tone was unlike her usual self, and Tommy immediately noticed. "Are you certain you're well?"

"I'm fine. Now, go. I'll be right with you."

Tommy could tell something was the matter, but didn't press any further.

Lydia picked her miserable self up, and headed to the lavatory. She had to relief herself before the trip. A stream of hot urine shot out of her with force. But that wasn't all. The toilet bowl was stained red. There was blood. There was so much blood.

\- o -

And the door knob rattled.

"Grab that oil lamp. And your book."

Jane bit down on the tip of a bullet. She dumped the gunpowder into the oil reserve. And she tore a page from the book, and stuffed that into the lamp, too.

"When I give you the order, I want you to light the paper. It'll work as a makeshift explosive. I only have five bullets. When I reload, we'll be vulnerable, so I'll need you to cover me."

Maura's mind was spinning in all different directions. She couldn't think, so she did as she was told.

"We'll be fine." Jane held Maura's hand in her own. "We are not going to die here, Maura, I promise you that much."

The lock rattled a few more times.

Jane cocked her revolver. And waited.

The door flew open.

Jane fired off the first shot. And the next. And the next. Whenever a body crossed the threshold into their room, Jane shot at indiscriminately.

They waited. But no more bodies came.

Jane cautiously peered into the hallway. It was dimly lit. But the outlines of several bodies were visible. It was at this time that several shots rang out from down the hallway. It came from Frankie and Barry's suite. Jane was certain of it. She could of ran and headed for the hills, but she didn't. She couldn't leave her brother, nor Barry, behind.

Jane trudged down the hallway fearlessly, and shot at every shadow that moved.

"Light it now!"

Maura struck a locofoco match against the rail, and lit the paper fuse.

Jane met up with Barry near their suite, and together, through brute firepower, forced the gang down the only path of retreat: the stairs.

"Now, Maura!"

Maura tossed the oil lamp down the flight of stairs. An explosion triggered upon ignition of the gunpowder.

One of the men caught fire, while several others fled at the sight.

While the flame worked as a natural repellent, Jane and Barry reloaded their revolvers. And they continued to press forth. They fired away until the last body finally collapsed.

"You alright, Barry?"

"Yeah."

Jane patted Barry on the back. And they shared a short-lived moment of comradery.

"Jane!"

It was Maura.

Jane rushed back as fast as she could. Through the fight and the gunfire, Jane hadn't even noticed Frankie's absence, and now she knew why.

Frankie was by the bedside drawer, in a pool of his own blood.

"What happened?!"

"Those bastards jumped us, and got the better of Frankie."

Frankie was barely conscious.

Maura lifted Frankie's shirt, and inspected the wound. He had been shot in the lower abdomen. She turned him over, and much to his dismay, found no exit wound. The bullet was still lodged within his body.

"Barry, I need you to run to the kitchen, and retrieve a silver spoon, and the strongest alcohol you can find. At least eighty-six proof."

Jane just stood there, completely out of it. She has never seen Frankie like this before. He was masculine, strong, and hot-tempered; he never showed the slightest hint of weakness. But the Frankie that laid there, critically wounded, it was foreign to her.

"Jane! I need you to lend me a hand. Now!"

Jane snapped out of it. "I'm here, Frankie. You're going to be fine."

"Take this cloth, and press down on the wound as hard as you can."

Jane did as she was told.

"Fuck!" Frankie screamed as the pain reverberated through his body. It was felt in his spinal, all the way down to his toes. "Oh. Lord."

The wound was the size of nickel. And yet, it managed to produce such a devastating effect.

Barry returned shortly thereafter. "I have your spoon. And a bottle of whiskey."

"Light that lamp. And bring it forth. I'll need all the luminescence I can get."

Maura tore the lid off with her teeth, and she soaked the wound in whiskey.

Frankie howled in tortuous pain. He flailed his arms, and whacked Maura right in the jaw.

"Hold him down until I tell you otherwise."

Barry and Jane pinned Frankie down by his shoulders, while Maura sat atop his legs. "Mark my words, Frankie, this will hurt."

Maura dug two fingers into Frankie's wound, and she started fishing for the bullet. Her fingers were completely enveloped in the warm flesh. She was careful not to perforate anything. But this procedure wasn't without risk. The wound was irritated, and it was bleeding profusely. Maura continued to scoured for as long as she dared, but it was useless, she couldn't locate the bullet in the vastness of the cavity.

"I can't find the bullet."

"Then what?!" Jane panicked. "Please, Maura, Frankie can't die. Not here. Not like this."

There wasn't time. Maura knew if she continued to search for the bullet, Frankie could very well bleed out and die before she accomplished that. It was a judgment call. And she made it. She did what she thought was best.

"Get ready. He will fight us. But I need you to hold him still."

Maura grabbed the spoon and she heated the metal over the open flame, until it was cherry red. She pried the flesh apart. And without mercy, she pressed the scalding spoon along the wall linings within.

Frankie was hurled back from the brink of unconsciousness. His body contorted with the viciousness of even the most grotesque exorcism.

The room permeated with the smell of burnt meat and charcoal, similar to that of bacon.

Maura worked from the inside outward. With one last sizzle, the outer wound was cauterized, too. It was done.

"Well?"

"I've cauterized his wound the best I can. If the bullet perforated anything, the cauterization should have stemmed the bleed."

"And the bullet?"

"It'll have to remain inside him."

"Will he be okay?"

"No." Maura answered honestly. "He'll have to fight like he's never fought before if he has any chance of survival."

"We can't stay here, Jane. We have to move now, before it's too late."

Barry and Jane carried a critically injured Frankie out and into the night. This wasn't an accident. This was an ambush. And someone was going to pay dearly for this treachery.

\- o -

The luxurious office was quiet, and still. The rowdiness of whatever went on downstairs did not affect the ambiance of the secluded room.

It was Katherine's duty, until her father said otherwise, to balance and maintain the books for the Grand Duchess. This was a casino. And its main duty was to generate cash flow. Its secondary purpose was to secure the contracts for the railroad. And to a certain extent, it was successful. They had too many councilmen and politicians attend their opening to count. The next step was to lure them in with the prospect of riches, and leave them poor from their greed. Then and only then will they be able to secure such lucrative government contracts.

Katherine has been here all morning, and yet she struggled to concentrate on the task at hand. There were simply too many moving parts, and so much she didn't understand. Ever since Jane left for Chicago, Katherine found herself irritable, and not quite her usual self. She used to be calm, collected, and well-tampered. But now, she realized, she would snap at the smallest of things. It was a problem. But until she laid eyes on Jane again, she won't be able to truly be herself.

A urgent knock sounded.

"Come in."

It was Stanley.

"Excuse me, Lady Pierce."

"What is the matter?"

"We have a rather troublesome guest downstairs. He lost a fair share of money on dices, and now, he's causing quite the scene. He's incoherent at times. And he won't leave till he has word with either Master Pierce, or Mr. Jones."

Katherine was supposed to limit herself to the second floor. Though the Grand Duchess was the grandest building in the entire city, it was still a casino. It was no place for a woman, much less a woman of her standing and stature; it was unbecoming. Tommy had taken a day leave, while her father and Casey were both presently absent.

"Did he give his name?"

"Yes. Ian Faulkner. If I'm not mistaken, he's the nephew of Caitlyn Macy, heir to the Macy & Co. department stores, though I'm not entirely convinced."

Great. It was yet another drunken bastard that thought his money and privilege made him superior to all others. On any other day, Katherine would've had the patience to deal with this Faulkner jackass with a bit more finesse, but not today. Her patience was non-existence, and her irritability was at an all time high.

"Lead the way."

"But —"

"My father is not to be bothered with such inconsequential matters; especially a brat that thinks he could neglect his due respect for our place of business."

Stanley led Katherine down to the main lobby, and into a high stakes room that housed a game called, Highs & Lows. It was simple. And played with three dices. The table was void of any patrons but a young gentleman and an employee.

Ian Faulkner was young, green, and rich. It was apparent from his clothes, and the way he carried himself. His arrogance and egotism was undeniable, and dripping from his pores.

"I ask for Mr. Pierce, and you bring me a fucking bar wench?"

"I ask that you refrain from such vulgarities whilst in our establishment."

"Do you have the faintest idea who I am? You best watch that tongue of yours, or Mr. Pierce will get an earful from me."

Katherine did not back down.

"You're actually quite breathtaking when you sulk. It suits your features well." Ian Faulkner got up close, and personal. "You smell good, too."

"This is your last and final warning, Mr. Faulkner."

"I bet you have a magical cunt just oozing with luscious juice that I could drink by the cupful." Ian Faulkner grabbed a strand of Katherine's hair, and inhaled deeply. "The warmth between your thighs must drive the men around here to the brink of sanity."

Katherine grabbed the dice rake, and she smashed Ian Faulkner's face in with it. She swung with such ferocity that the sturdy wooden rake cracked in two upon impact.

Ian Faulkner went down hard.

"Remove him from the premise, Stanley, and see to it he's banned for life."

"Yes, Lady Pierce."

Katherine kicked the man while he was down, just for good measure. She turned on the spot, only to catch the eyes of Casey Jones. He was on the second floor balcony. He had saw the entire event unfold. Nothing about his facial expression nor reaction gave away how he felt.

Katherine hasn't forgiven Casey just yet. He was the last person she wanted to see. She headed in the opposite direction.

\- o -

Founded in 1811, the Massachusetts General Hospital was one of the best hospitals in the country, and renowned for their advanced medicine. When Teresa was injured, albeit at the hands of Lydia, Angela spared no expense in paying for the best care possible. Teresa was, after all, a member of the Rizzoli clan.

Angela, Tommy, and a rather reluctant Lydia, were there to pick Teresa up, and welcome her home. The scar on her right cheek was clearly visible. But besides the obvious, Teresa seemed to be in good health and spirit, or as much as she could be, after spending almost an entire week in recovery.

"Is that all?"

"It is. Thank you, Tommy."

Tommy secured the straps to the leather bag.

Angela and Lydia walked in with the bill paid in full. It wasn't cheap. But it wasn't like they couldn't afford it.

"Go on, Lydia. Get it over with."

Lydia, in a voice barely above a whisper, said, "I'm sorry, Teresa. I truly am."

Teresa's dark pupils dilated, as her lips pulled back to reveal her teeth. She kept the rage and hatred she felt towards this lowlife confined to the pits of her stomach. She kept her face straight, and her attitude cheery. "We were both in the wrong. Think nothing of it."

"Good." Angela remarked. "Our family is in the midst of grieving, the last thing I need is the two of you crowing about, and knocking your teeth out."

"Alright. Let's go. We have the carriage awaiting."

"Wait. Have you seen Brandon?"

"He's in town? No. I haven't seen him."

"I sent word of my stay. Mother said Brandon had departed, and should already be in Boston."

"Well, should he arrive, he'll know where you are. We haven't moved since he last visited, anyways."

"Who's Brandon?" Lydia asked.

"Brandon's my oldest brother. He often travels for work. He owns and operators an ore mine."

"I see."

They hadn't even step foot out the room, when from out of nowhere, Nina Holiday appeared. She was one of the family's help, but more specifically, she was Angela's personal slave.

"Beg pardon, Madam Rizzoli, but this could not wait."

It was a telegraph.

Angela grabbed the message. And as she read the contents, she often yelped and gasped until the very end.

Tommy read the message next.

"Did something happen?"

"Jane just sent word that they've been ambushed. Frankie is critically injured, and can no longer travel. They're stuck in Hilliard, Ohio."

Teresa shrieked.

"Nina. I need you to head home immediately, and round up a stronghold of our ten best men. We ride out in an hour. We will ride out to Hilliard, and see to it that Frankie gets a personal escort back home, and in the hands of trusted ones."

"Of course, Master Thomas."

Angela was still paralyzed. She hasn't moved since the dreaded news.

"Mother?"

"Huh?"

"I will see to it that Frankie isn't harmed. You have my word and assurance, Mother."

Angela said nothing.

\- o -

Jane and Maura left the only Western Union in town. They risked everything getting that telegraph back home, but they didn't have a choice. Frankie was in no condition to travel. And they couldn't very well leave him behind to fend for himself. No. They were stuck here in Hilliard, Ohio. Their only hope was Tommy. He'll be here, hopefully, within days. Until then, they had to hold down the fort, and shy away from the crowds. There was no telling who these men are, or how far they'll go to see them perish.

They've since sought shelter in an abandoned barn just out the outskirts of the North East end. It wasn't well insulated. And it lacked even the barest of necessities, but it'll do. Frankie couldn't move, or be moved, at this point. He was shades of indescribable white. It was apparent, given his appearance, that he had lost a lot of blood. But the worse has yet to come. As of this morning, their worst nightmare became a reality: Frankie ran a fever.

"Where to now?"

"How much money do you have left?"

"Money is of no concern. I will resort to petty theft if necessary. Just tell me what it is you need, and I'll procure it."

Maura did not agree with Jane's brashness, but she was right. They needed the medicine. It was, quite literally, a matter of life and death.

"Frankie's body temperature will continue to rise as the fever runs rampant. His body is trying desperately to quell the rot from within. There's nothing we can do about the fever but let it run its course. What we can do is relief the symptoms."

"There should be a medical clinic somewhere near here. We'll pay for what we can, and we'll take what we can't."

"We need willow bark, lots of it, or any combination of willow extract will do."

"Say no more."

It's been too long a time since they've talked, truly talked. Though Jane and Maura were well into their twenties, their prior actions were juvenile, to say the least. They were both adults. And given everything that's transpired since, there really wasn't any time to hold a grudge.

"I truly am sorry for this, Maura. It was never my intention to hurt you, nor put you in harm's way."

"I know."

"I didn't know." Jane said softly. "If I had known beforehand that you were...I would not have claimed your maiden flower."

Maura knew this wasn't easy for Jane. And she respected her for it, though she really didn't want to get into it. At least, not for the time being. "I do not wish to discuss this now, Jane."

"I have but last words, and I promise you, we'll speak of this no more."

"Go on."

"Do not walk this path in the pursuit of my shadow, Maura. People will view you differently. And words of judgment and forlorn will plague at every turn. Life as a deviant is not one I would wish upon anybody, much less you. You're still young, gorgeous, and ever so talented. Find a good man, and marry that fool. You deserve to settle about a life of domestic bliss."

Maura neither replied nor acknowledged Jane's candid words.

"Now, let us go."

\- o -

This was a horrible mistake. She never should have trusted a Jew to do her bidding. And now, Frankie was paying the price for her arrogance, and for this man's stupidity. It will not stand. Angela Rizzoli did not get to where she is today with clean hands. At times, she could even be dirtier than her late husband. And this was one of those instances.

The office door flew open.

Christopher Baumman jumped in his seat; startled by the intrusion. "Mrs. Rizzoli?"

"You incompetent half-dick!"

"What...what's the —"

Angela hurled her handbag directly for Baumman's head.

It struck its target dead on.

Christopher Baumman went flying off his seat.

"Call off your men, you hear me?!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"Do not play dumb with me! I gave you a lump sum to see to it that cunt, Jane Rizzoli, would be disposed of before she sets foot back in this wretched town. Do you not recall?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then tell me why is it that she is still alive and breathing, while my son bears the misplaced burden of my wrath?!"

Christopher Baumman's eyes doubled. "That's impossible, Mrs. Rizzoli! I swear to you! I haven't paid the bandits yet. More so, they haven't received so much as instructions from me, much less due payment. This was no my doing!"

"Bullshit!" Angela screamed. "I should've known better than to trust a dirty Jew."

"Please, Mrs. Rizzoli. You have to believe me!"

"If anything, and I mean anything, should befall my son, I will see to it that your entire patrilineal line dies with you. No even your dog will be spared, so help me God!"

Christopher Baumman wasn't lying. Every word he said, he said in truth. He really didn't send anybody to assassinate Jane Rizzoli, much less Franklin Rizzoli Junior. And now, all he could do was recite a prayer, and hope for the best. For if anything happened to Frankie Rizzoli, there was no doubt, whatsoever, that Angelia Rizzoli would follow through with her threat.

\- o -

 **A/N: Revenant** _ **(n)**_ **: A person who has returned, especially supposedly from the dead. Or, simply: Leonardo Dicaprio.**


	9. Chapter 9: Fight for Your Life

**CH 9: Fight for Your Life**

 **Warning: offensive language reflective of the time and culture.**

\- o -

Hilliard, Ohio wasn't exactly big, but it wasn't small either. It was big enough to warrant a search team. But small enough where upon you'll be recognized, almost immediately, for being an outsider. There weren't a lot of places they could hide. It was only a matter of time till they were discovered in that abandoned barn. But until then, it was the only safe haven they had.

From the short time they've been here, stranded in this God forsaken town, a group of men were still out and about actively searching for them. It was obvious, given their appearance and their mixed races, that they were outlaws. Jane had lost count as to how many there were; it was more than a handful, but less than a dozen. And what made matters worse, was the fact that even the sheriff's department turned a blind eye to their presence. Jane has seen several lawkeeps, quite literally, turn their heads as the outlaws walked past.

Jane hasn't heard from Tommy since her last telegraph, and that had been more than two days ago. She couldn't send any more messages either. There were only two Western Unions in town, and they both had men guarding the place around the clock. But that wasn't all. All roads leading in and out of town were restricted.

Their choices were limited. Even if they left Frankie, and fought their way out, they were outnumbered. Not to mention the fact that their ammunition were at an all time low. They couldn't restock, either. They had a couple of rounds left, and that was it. After which, they'll be defenseless, and ripe for picking.

Whoever wanted them dead went through a lot of trouble, and exhausted their wallet in the process. They most likely had a bounty of their heads, given their relentless pursuit. But Jane wasn't about to give them that satisfaction. She was stubborn. And she'll remain so until she was buried six feet under.

During the day, Jane used her time wisely and she scouted the town. She explored every nook and cranny, and left no stones unturned. Since they didn't have the manpower or the firepower, their next best weapon was information. There's no telling when they'll need to know the layout, should they need a retreat.

But come nightfall, Jane was banished to the shadows for fear of capture.

It was time to head back.

Jane rapped her knuckles and administered the secret knock.

Barry undid the latch. He had a shotgun in hand, ready and loaded.

"How is he?"

"The fever has claimed him."

Frankie was drenched in sweat. His skin was clammy to the touch. He looked worse for wear with each passing day. But the horror didn't stop there.

Maura lifted his shirt.

The cauterized wound was shades of black and blue. And above that, was pus that had collected, and ballooned to the size of a mozzarella ball.

Maura pierced the surface, and the pus came gushing out. More than half a cup of pus spewed from that one puncture alone. The odor was rancid. It smelled of death.

"I have to drain his wound almost every half day."

"Why isn't the willow extract working?! They worked for me!"

"Your gunshot wound was through and through. It was never this severe. The willow extract isn't enough to quell the rot. The pus is a sign. And with time, the rot will spread, and it'll consume him from the inside."

"I don't want to hear anymore of your rambles, Maura. Tell me what it is you need, and I will procure it this instance!"

"There's nothing more we can do for him. If Frankie wants to live, he must desire so, and fight."

Jane feared the very worst. She and Frankie were so much alike that at times, they forgot they were related by blood. They quarreled and they fought, but they've never, ever, wished ill will nor death upon each other. They were siblings. And nothing in the world could change that.

"I'm sorry, Jane."

"Is he in pain?"

"Yes. He's in an unimaginable amount of pain."

Barry was the first to say it, though Maura had the exact same thought. "We can't let him suffer like this, Jane, it's inhumane."

"You want me to put him out of his misery?"

"What choice do we have?"

"No! Rizzolis don't kill Rizzolis. Frankie will get over this, I know he will."

Barry knew better than to press the matter. At the end of the day, the choice was Jane's alone. And he respected that.

"There is one thing."

"Whatever it is."

"It's not a cure. We can alleviate his pain. And give his body the time it needs to fight the rot."

"Tell me."

"I'll need opium."

Jane nearly flinched. She hated opium, and everything associated with the drug. She knew, firsthand, what kind of damage it can do to a person, and their loved ones. But now was not the time to be morally conflicted. Not when Frankie's life depended on it.

"I'll go, Jane." Barry said. "You've been out all day with barely anything to eat."

"And that's exactly why I should go. I've studied the area. I know exactly where all the merchant stores are. Even if I give you my notes, it's much too dangerous for you."

"But —"

"No. He's my brother. He's my responsibility. I would never ask that of you."

"I'm going, too."

"No!" Jane snapped. "I will not allow you to put yourself at risk."

"I'll be safe with you."

Jane wasn't convinced, nor fooled.

"The opium alone is much too potent. I need to dial down the potency. I can't teach you, Jane, so cast away your apprehensions, and see to it that your word is kept: I do not intend to die tonight."

"Fine."

\- o -

It was Sunday dinner at the Rizzoli household, and yet, more than half the family was missing. Only the Rizzoli women were left, and none had an appetite to eat more than a spoonful here and there. There was no attempt to make any small talk. They kept to themselves. And they would've ended the meal as such, if not for an unexpected guest.

"Madam Rizzoli."

"What now?"

"I have a Mr. Brandon Strongoli in the foyer. He's here to see Lady Teresa."

Teresa nearly dropped her fork.

"Show him in."

Lydia's mind was preoccupied, as it has been since she was attacked that day whilst at the Grand Duchess. Her mood hasn't improved since, nor will it any time soon. She wasn't in the mood to entertain, either. She didn't care for Teresa, and she most certainly didn't care for her brother. She was about to excuse herself from the table, when she was rudely interrupted. An unexpected voice caught her off guard, and it paralyzed her mind and body.

"Good evening."

"Brandon!" Teresa she ran as fast as she could into those open arms. "You've had me worried."

"Your worries are unfounded, little sister. I simply had other urgent matters that required my presence. But I'm here now." Brandon traced his finger gently across Teresa's scarred cheek. "I'm glad to see you are well."

Angela cleared her throat.

Brandon took off his hat, and gave a courtesy bow. "Mrs. Rizzoli. I apologize for the unannounced visit. It was not my intent to intrude upon your evening."

"Nonsense. You're family, Brandon." Angela ordered. "Nina! Set an extra plate for our guest."

"You're much too kind."

Brandon Strongoli was everything her sister wasn't. He was tall. And his features were the pinnacle of handsome. His hair was short, and naturally curly. And the way he spoke, with his proper grammar and soft tone, you wouldn't expect him to be an ore mine owner. It was, without a doubt, a lowly grade of work by anybody's standard.

Lydia said, "Excuse me."

"Excuse me, too. I need to wash off, and make myself somewhat presentable."

Lydia shot off, and hurried down the hallway.

"Wait!"

It was a command more so than a request. And for whatever reason, Lydia's body did as it was told. That icy tone of voice, it sent a wave of frigid chills down her spine, and it cemented her feet to the floor.

"We meet again, sweet mayflower."

Lydia physically flinched from that overtly sweet nickname. She almost didn't recognize him at first. He cleaned up well. The last time she laid eyes on him, he was filthy, and caked in human grime.

But there was no mistake about it. Brandon Strongoli was the man that raped her.

\- o -

Dinner at the Pierce residence did not fare any better.

Katherine spent the entire meal shoving her food from one side of the plate, to the next.

Robbert Pierce, on the other hand, could not have had a healthier appetite. At the end of the meal, he even enjoyed a fine cigar with his wine.

"May I be excused?"

"You may not."

"What is it that you want, Father?"

"Your attitude has become unbearable as of late. Do not think I have neglected to notice. I am neither blind nor as deaf as you think I am, Katherine."

"And the point being?

Robbert inhaled deeply, and exhaled. "It's because of her, isn't it?"

Katherine didn't so much as bat an eye.

"You are the topic of many whispers. I never did care, for it hasn't affected you before, until now."

Still, Katherine said nothing for she had nothing to say.

"Casey and I have exchanged words. And the matter is settled. Your nuptials will be postponed no more. Six months is much too long. It is to be expedited, the next fortnight, to be exact."

"What?!"

"Do not sound so surprised. Much of the preparation is done. What matters maketh if we change the date?"

Katherine has reached her boiling point. She might as well lay it out there. "If you have known about my preference and indiscretion, why did you accept Casey's proposal, and see me suffer the same fate as mother?!"

Robbert's lips thinned.

"Such arranged marriages have failed so miserably for you. And yet you banish me to the same cruel fate. Mother was miserable, and you were the source of that misery. I am your daughter and only surviving heir. Are you so heartless that you wish to see me live the remainder of my life in nothing but anguish?!"

"You shut your mouth!"

"I will not! I have done so for twenty some years, and where has it gotten me?! I have been nothing but docile, and yet, you've returned the sentiment with your indifference."

"Your naïvety will do you no favors. You have always known, from day one, that marriage isn't about love. You will marry Casey Jones, and you will see to it our family's status is elevated and solidified. Besides, Casey has given me his word that his second-born son shall bear the surname, Pierce. A gesture I greatly appreciate."

None of this sat well with Katherine.

"Do not test my patience. Should you be foolish enough to piss my efforts away, you'll find yourself in detriment, and on the receiving end of my wrath. You have my personal guarantee, that I strip away your name and honor, so that you shall have neither."

"Do not threaten me, Father."

"No. I will. For I know you, Katherine. You respond well to acts of threats, much like your willful mother. Now rid yourself of my presence. I cannot bear to even look at you."

Katherine stormed off into the night, away from the castle that held her prisoner. This wasn't over. She refused to give in to his threats, nor any of Casey's demands. Her mind was made. If need be, she'll elope with Jane, and away from this nightmare called reality.

For once in her life, Katherine was going to fight for she was believed in, and loved.

\- o -

To the best of Jane's knowledge, a township like Hilliard didn't have an opium den. The luxury of a narcotics den was reserved for the big cities. But be that as it may, that didn't mean there weren't users. That was the effect opium has. Its prevalence was widespread. You can spot an addict from a mile away, with their lethargy, dark eye bags, a droopy face, and a constant runny nose. If there were users, there had to be a vendor.

Based on the notes she made earlier, Jane was certain there were only six merchant stores that had the resources, and capital, to stock an upper class narcotic like opium. The problem was locating which of the six actually held the inventory.

Jane held Maura close. She had her revolver with her, but it only held three rounds. It was less than ideal. And then there was the issue of time. They needed the opium post haste. Frankie didn't have the luxury of waiting. It was risky. But they collectively decided to hit the biggest merchant store in town. It had the best chance of the six stores.

Maura held onto Jane as they weaved in and out of the back alleys, and kept to the shadows. Every so often, they would hear the sound of approaching footsteps. Jane would pull her in, their bodies amalgamated as one, and they held their breaths until the footsteps passed. At times, Maura could feel her heart jump into her throat. They did this for the entire duration of their thirty minute trek.

When they were finally within a block of their destination, the faint echo of voices could be heard.

There was a gang of outlaws a few stores down, just loitering about on the steps of an unmarked building. It was apparent that a few had maybe a bit too much to drink. They were loud and rowdy. And nobody gave a damn.

"Don't even think about it, Jane. It isn't worth the risk. We should turn back, and try another location."

Jane bit her thumb, and tapped her foot. "This is our best bet. What say I distract them, and when you're in the clear, you go in and grab whatever it is you need. When I lose them, I'll meet you back at the barn."

"No! We do not split up, nor are you going to use yourself as bait. I will not let you."

Jane wanted to rebuttal, but could tell Maura's stance was firm. "Well, if you have a better idea, pray-tell, now's the time."

Maura peeked out from the shadows, and simply observed the men. A few were drinking heavily. There were bottles upon bottles strewed on the floor. And that's when Maura came up with an idea. It wasn't a good one, but it'll do.

Maura pulled Jane back, and they retraced their steps. She was certain she saw an empty bottle somewhere along the way. When she finally found what she was looking for, Maura literally jumped. She gave the bottle a sniff. It smelled of moonshine. There was some left on the bottom, too, which made it all the more perfect.

"Hand me your knife."

Jane watched as Maura used the knife to cut out a long strand of fabric from her shirt.

"Pry open a bullet. I need the gunpowder."

Jane didn't hesitate; she did as she was told.

Maura poured the gunpowder into the bottle, and mixed the moonshine with it. She then stuffed the fabric into the neck of the bottle, with only the tip barely touching the concoction. "The fabric will act as a prolonged fuse. We light this now. We should have two minutes, if not more. By the time the fabric has burned through, the gunpowder will ignite, and the moonshine will force an explosion unlike any other."

It was at times like these that Jane wished she had pursued academics. She marveled at Maura's creativity, and innovativeness.

"When you're ready."

Jane struck a locofoco match, and lit the fabric alight.

They backtracked through the alleyway as fast as they could. This was ground zero. The outlaws will flood the immediate area within moments of the explosion. They needed to be ready, and make a mad dash for the store.

They were in position, and out of sight. They waited. And waited. And waited. But nothing. There was no explosion, and there most certainly wasn't any distraction.

"Did the flame smother?"

"It's possible, but unlikely. There isn't any wind —"

And that's when it happened. An echo of a faint explosion could be heard from afar.

And it most definitely caught the outlaws' attention. They turned their heads. And one by one, they headed towards the general direction of the commotion.

They sprinted across the street. But they were denied entry. The front door was locked. And the windows were secure.

"Let's round out back."

It had a back door, but it, too, was secured.

Jane took the butt of her revolver, and she banged the doorknob several times. It took a few well placed hits, but the lock eventually loosened.

Maura entered firstly, followed closely by Jane.

The place was huge.

Maura jumped the counter, and ran her hand over the glass.

Jane covered the door, and stood watch.

"Found it!"

The opium was premium, and packed into a convenient tin. It sold for five half dollars. Maura grabbed two tins' worth and a bottle of juniper berry extract. She wasn't lying. The opium itself was much too potent for Frankie to take. The extract would help dilute the potency.

"Let's go."

Jane ventured out the streets first, with Maura trailing behind her some way. She was still busy juggling with the items in hand.

"Hey!"

By the time Jane realized the horror of her negligence, it was already too late. She had been spotted, but not Maura, not yet, anyways.

"Stay there. Don't move."

Truthfully, Maura was scared shitless. She couldn't even think, much less react.

Jane raised her revolver, and fired a warning shot into the air. Only two bullets remained in the chamber. And she sacrificed one more if it meant Maura's safety, and in turn, Frankie's recovery.

A gang of more than five outlaws gave chase. Jane had a head start, but they were steadily gaining ground.

Maura watched as Jane threw a right, and disappeared into the night.

This was bad.

And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

\- o -

Night had long fallen, but sleep was the furthest thought from Lydia's mind. She was curled in bed, and armed with nothing less than a butcher knife. It was ridiculous, but it was the only thing that made her feel moderately safe.

The sudden appearance of Brandon Strongoli made her fear for her life. By the evening's end, Angela insisted Brandon stay the night. And so he did. He was currently housed in one of their spare bedrooms.

This was the first time Lydia felt unsafe in her own house. It wasn't enough for the sadistic bastard to assault her, and now, he was terrorizing her in her own home. And it worked. Lydia wanted to be strong. She truly did. But the power he held over her, it was unexplainable.

Hours went by in relative silence. There was the occasion squeak here and there, but nothing of substance. But Lydia wasn't fooled. She wasn't out of the woods, she knew.

Then at three o'clock in the morning, there came a subtle disturbance. It was small. The footsteps were light. Whoever it was, wasn't wearing shoes.

The doorknob rattled.

Lydia trembled uncontrollably; her hand gripped the handle till they were ghost white.

The door was locked. And the mechanism held.

Lydia had the foresight to lock her door this evening; something she didn't do often. But now, she was glad she did.

The knob rattled a few more times, to no avail. And that was it. The peace had returned. But Lydia knew the fight has only just begun.

\- o -

The moonlight was minimal. And the lighting was sparse.

Through the madness of it all, Jane dropped her notes, and her makeshift map. She was blind. She had no idea where she was going, or where she was, only that she had to run, she had to run for her life.

Maybe it wasn't the smartest thing to fire that warning shot. She exposed herself, and attracted the attention of even those that weren't within the immediate vicinity. But she wasn't thinking properly. When push came to shove, all Jane thought about was Maura's safety, and not her own.

This was bad.

They had her cornered.

Jane threw another right, only to see the same shadows heading right for her. With an enemy to the front, and one bringing up the rear, there was nowhere for her to go, and she couldn't hide, for she was out in the open, exposed and out there.

These outlaws were scum of the Earth. They weren't going to leave her unscathed. Jane knew, she just knew, that if captured alive, they would tear her apart, and rape her being wholly and entirely.

Jane clutched her revolver. She only had one bullet left.

"Where you gonna run to now, darling?"

"There's six of us, and one of you."

"It's my turn to ride first! I ain't gonna be last, not this time."

Jane cocked her gun. One bullet. That was all she needed to end this.

\- o -

 **A/N: Put this down, turn off Vampire Diaries & Making a Murderer, and go watch The 100/Clexa. Just go. Thank me later. Go already! **


	10. Chapter 10: Home Sweet Home

**CH 10: Home Sweet Home**

 **Warning: offensive language reflective of the time and culture.**

\- o -

Night has fallen. It was pre-dawn. The moon has shied away from the clouds, while the sun has yet to partake in the day.

Jane was forced into a literal corner. There was no plausible route of escape. None, whatsoever. There were six of them, and only one of her. They were of all shapes and sizes. Jane couldn't tell which was the leader.

It was a dice roll. But she had no choice. This was it.

Jane pointed at the porkiest one of the lot. It was the exact same bloke that had earliest staked his claim, to ride her first.

"Go on, Johnny. She's ripe between the loins."

Jane wasn't afraid to die. The only regret she bore was the fact it had to be at the hands of these savages. She was as good as dead. And much to Jane's dismay, she couldn't keep her promise to Maura.

"Come here, girl!"

Jane held up her revolver.

A single shot rang out.

And that was it.

\- o -

The moment Jane was out of sight, and her mindset recomposed, Maura ran as fast as she could back to the barn. She didn't care about the deep seeded burn in her chest, or the heavy ache of cramps, all she cared about was Jane, and whether she lived or not — hopefully the first, and not the latter.

Barry was the only person that could save Jane at this point. But even then, by the time she ran to and from home base, Jane was already long gone; in which direction was anyone's guess. Barry and Maura stayed closed to one another, and they combed the streets. Their previous need for secrecy was out the window. Time was of the essence.

But no matter where they went, or which way they turned, they found no trace of life, much less Jane Rizzoli. Maura was frantic, while Barry did his best to remain levelheaded. Not only was Jane one of Barry's best, and closest friends, the reality of the situation was dire; he needed her as much as she did him, if they had any chance of making it back to Boston.

There were times when Maura, honestly, doubted they would ever find Jane alive and unharmed. That this was a lost cause. But she refused to give up. For she knew, without a doubt, that if the situation was reversed, and it was her in the hands of the outlaws, Jane would move heaven and Earth, to see her safe return. Maura could not, and would not, abandon Jane.

Night has retreated, and dawn was fast approaching. Maura last laid eyes on Jane more than half an hour ago, if not more. Time was flying by much too quickly for her to reckon. She had a small handgun by her chest. It was Barry that strongly suggested she be armed, and for good reason. If and when they found Jane, the outlaws weren't about to give her up without a fight. And a fight they'll have, that's for sure. But Barry needed Maura to watch his back, more than anything.

It was the dead of night. And then, from afar, a single shot rang out. It sounded no more than a block away, two at most. And that was all it took for Barry and Maura to dash towards the commotion. They ran as fast as they could with the wind to their backs.

There were shadows, and that was it. They couldn't make out the figures, but they weren't Jane. And that was good enough for Bary. He got down on his knees, and locked his rifle. He aimed, and fired. One guy went down. And then another. More than five bullets were exhausted, and there were three bodies to show for it.

Maura has never shot a gun before. She understood the finer mechanics of a firearm, and that was about it. But for Jane, she did what needed to be done, and neglected her humanity. She ran up to an outlaw, got as close as she could, and pulled down on the trigger. She shot him in the stomach.

Jane was on the ground, clinched in a brutal brawl. The man was big. Almost twice her size. But Jane was ruthless. To her, her mentality was kill or be killed. There was no third option.

Barry and Maura had the element of surprise. Gunfire was exchanged. And shots were made. Unfortunately for them, the outlaws dropped faster than flies. When Barry finally ran out of ammo, he improvised and stole whatever he needed from the bodies he had dropped only moments prior. The bastards had no need for guns where they were going: Hell.

There was no upset. From the very get-go, Jane has always had the upper hand. And now, she had the fat man pinned with a sharpened blade.

Not far from where they were was Johnny, her would-be rapist. This all started with him. Jane used the last of her bullet, and shot him in the neck. When the rest of the outlaws came at her, she had already lifted Johnny's revolver. Not to mention the fact she used his corpse as a human shield. After that, it was only a matter of stealth, and sheer will to live.

"Jane!" Maura ran her hands all throughout Jane's body. She didn't ease up till she was certain Jane was well. "Are you hurt?!"

"I'm fine."

Barry soon joined them once he made sure the last of the bastards were rotting in Hell. He made sure to double tap. He nicked enough guns and ammunition to last them a good while. There was no need to be stingy.

"Good to see that you're well." Barry said. "I told Maura you were too stubborn to die."

Jane merely smirked.

"You stupid, fucking —"

Jane knocked his front teeth in with the butt of her blade. "I don't give two nickels about you, bando. I want to know who ordered the ambush. You tell me what I want to know, and I'll let you live."

"I don't trust no fucking cunt."

"I don't have a reason to spew falsehood. I can kill you right where you stand. But I haven't."

The fat man swallowed the lump in his throat. The grounds were splayed with his brothers. There was no one left but him. He was all that was left of the brotherhood. But there was one thing, perhaps, more important than his own life. "How much is this information worth to you?"

"You ballsy, son of a bitch." Jane pulled out a stack of fivers, and threw it at him. "Now, talk!"

"I ain't ever met nobody. But they told us where you'll be before you even got here."

"Who?"

"The telegraph came from Boston. Something about money. And that's all I know. I swear."

Jane smashed his nose in. "Who?!"

"I don't —"

Jane knocked out another tooth. "WHO?!"

"The name was —"

A shot rang out. And a single bullet pierced the man between the eyes.

Barry flung around, his rifle locked and loaded.

The shooter was a familiar face they all recognized.

"Tommy?"

Tommy stood there panting heavily, and drenched in cold sweat.

\- o -

There were five sheriff's department within the city limits of Boston. And Korsak was the lawkeep that ran station house number three. Lucky number three, they say. Well, there was nothing lucky about this house. If anything, since Korsak told up the job as the lawkeep that oversaw the peace between the Rizzoli, Jones, and Pierce, his hair had grayed twice as fast, and God damn, his heartburn and indigestion was bad. There was one upside, though, if you could call it that. At this job, there was never a dull moment.

The sun had broke, and the day has officially began. And with it, the endless bullshit. While his patrolmen combined the streets, Korsak was on his fat ass, his nose buried deep in today's newspaper. The Boston Times was his jam. Korsak could not begin the day properly if he didn't read the newspaper cover to cover. He just couldn't. Color him superstitious, but every single time he was interrupted mid-read, the day had always, without fail, turned up rotten.

And today was one of those days.

"Korsak!"

Two more pages. And that was it. He was so close.

"Korsak!"

"What has your cheeks clenched in a pinch, huh?" Korsak shouted. "Mind your manners, and bring down that God awful voice."

"I'm just the messenger." The young man handed Korsak the warrant. "That came from City Hall this morning. Signed and stamped by Judge Novak."

Korsak grabbed the paper, and shooed the boy away. It was an arrest warrant issued for the State of Massachusetts. For it to land in his district meant the arrestee was one of his residences. Korsak quickly scanned through the mumbo-jumbo before he got to the very end, where the arrestee's full name and address was written.

"God damn it!"

The day has only just begun, and it was already spoiled. It wasn't superstition if it was true.

\- o -

Lydia didn't want to leave the safety of her room. But she had little choice. She barely had a bite to eat the night before. That last thing she needed was to be weak and feeble. She needed her strength, should anything happen.

It was just before noon when Lydia finally emerged from her room. When she got to the foot of the stairs, though, did she realize her efforts were in vain. Even from a distance, his unforgettable voice carried down the hallway.

"Ah, Lydia. It's so kind of you to finally join us."

The sarcasm in Teresa's voice wasn't missed, though Lydia didn't care. They each bore a smile, of varying degree, on their faces; even Angela, too. Something wasn't right.

"And why is everybody in such a celebratory mood today?"

"It appears Brandon isn't in town solely to visit Teresa."

"Indeed. The reason for my tardiness can now be revealed. I sold my ore mine. The paperwork has been finalized, and the sale complete. I've decided to settle in Boston."

The color drained from Lydia's already pale complexion.

"Angela has been gracious enough to offer Brandon boarding, until he can find long term accommodations."

"Of course. It would be our pleasure to house you, Brandon."

"Much appreciated, Mrs. Rizzoli."

Angela smiled behind her cup. It wasn't because she was truly generous. No. Far from it. Brandon Strongoli was a wealthy businessman, and extraordinarily well connected in the West. There's no telling when such a time comes, and a favor is needed. It's always good to collect favors than debt.

But the good news didn't stop there. There was another reason for Angela's spectacular mood. Tommy has sent word of his imminent arrival. Frankie was alive, and well, but a long road lay ahead for his recovery. But regardless, he was alive, and that was all that mattered. It would appear that that dirty Jew, Christopher Baumann, had heeded her previous warning.

"Come and sit with us, Lyida." Brandon said sweetly. "If we're to share a roof, it would be my pleasure to get to know you better since we are family, after all."

"Excuse me."

Lydia rushed to the lavatory, and she hurled violently. There was nothing but stomach acid. It burned at every twist and turn.

This was her worst nightmare come true.

\- o -

In less than a fortnight, Katherine was going to be Mrs. Charles William Jones. But little did Casey know, that wasn't going to happen.

Katherine has made up her mind, regardless of her father's threats, and the exuberant amount of pressure Casey has cast, she wasn't going to concede. Not this time. She already had a bag packed, and money ready to go. All that was missing was her raven lover.

But be that as it may, Katherine was still livid at Casey for forcing her hand. She was royally pissed. And rightfully so. She would not be able to rest peacefully if she didn't give him a proper tongue lashing.

After several attempts, Katherine was eventually directed to the Queen Victoria Hotel. It was owned by the Jones. And it was where their reception was to be held. But little did she know, Casey wasn't there, though she did manage to find herself another Jones.

"Good Lord. The lot of you are slower than time itself. Pick it up, and move."

Katherine didn't recognize the woman, though from appearance alone, the facial construct was eerily familiar. She was tall for a woman. She had a head of long blonde hair, and her eyebrows were unshaped and thick, though it befitted her strong features. She was stunning. And even more breathtaking than her brother. Casey Jones wasn't a sight for sore eyes. But her sister. She was the true looker of the family.

"And who might you be?"

Clarke Theodora Jones had spent her early days here in Boston, before her dear father saw it fit to ship her off to Waterford, Ireland. She had only ever seen Katherine once, though she wasn't one you forget easily, not with that face and attitude.

"I'm Teddy. And you must be Katherine."

Katherine accepted the hand for a brisk shake.

"I didn't realize you were back."

"As you shouldn't. I was going to surprise Casey for his wedding, but that wouldn't be possible now would it, given the expedited nature of your nuptials."

"So you've heard?"

"Charles has yet to shut his mouth about it ever since your father gave the go-ahead." Teddy then stepped back, and gave Katherine an obvious sizing up. "My brother has a lot of faults, but the one thing he does have is good taste."

Katherine scoffed. She was repulsed her arrogance; it was obviously a family trait. "You are a woman yourself, and yet you objectify women much like a man would. Do you have no pride? Or is it shame you lack?"

"Charles did mention you were into Jane Eyre, what with her proto-feminism philosophy and all."

"Do not insult my intelligence with your belittlement."

"Katherine, darling, if I may offer you one piece of sound advice, it's this: if you think I'm bad, than you're in for a treat for my brother, dear Charles, is ten times the sadistic and arrogant bastard that I am."

Katherine already knew that, but she was truly shocked such words would part from his sister's lips.

"We may share the same blood, but Charles has never seen me as anything more than a nuisance. He was the one that suggested to father that I be shipped off, to further my education, if you could believe that."

"I didn't know."

"Nor should you. You may want to reconsider before you sell your body and soul. For if you go through with this union, I know for certain, he'll ruin you."

Teddy didn't specify the aspect, but Katherine could venture a guess.

"I've said everything I've wanted. No less. And no more." Teddy walked past Katherine, only to stop, and inhale the fragrance that is her. "The walls have ears. There have been whispers about you. If the eldest Jones isn't to your liking, you are welcome to sample another. That is what family is for, to share, isn't it?"

The words left Katherine more confused than stunned, if not both.

\- o -

Tommy came with a stronghold of ten men, and enough firepower to bury the sheriff's department twice over, if need be.

Perhaps there was a God after all, for they were mere miles from home. Home. Home is where the heart is. And Jane has not longed for anything so much as she has her home.

Barry, Maura, and Frankie shared one carriage, while Jane rode with Tommy in the smaller one. She has never been so happy to see her youngest brother. They were close. Jane was closer to Tommy than she was to Frankie; their personalities were too similar, so they often clashed. Tommy, on the other hand, was mindful, quiet, and soft. It's been too long since they've spoken. And they have much to talk about.

"Is that Father?"

"It is." Jane handed Tommy the urn. "Angela won't approve, but we didn't exactly have a choice."

Tommy held the urn, and his voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke. "This wasn't an accident, was it?"

"No. Adell, that backstabbing traitor, admitted to shooting Father. But for what reasons, I do not yet know."

"Did he name names?"

"The man's lips could not be pried. He held his tongue until the very end. Adell was either fiercely loyal to whomever, or foolishly stupid. I cannot say."

"And what of that dunkaroo back in Hilliard. Did the fat man say anything of interest?"

"Only that the puppeteer hails from Boston."

"I see."

"Why did you shoot him, Tommy?" Jane finally asked. "He was about to wag his chin, and tell us everything we wanted to know."

"I...I panicked. I saw you in duress, and I thought nothing of it when I fired."

Tommy was the baby of the family, and he certainly played the part, which made everything all the more out of character.

"You were a good hundred yards away. That shot was nothing short of impressive. Where did you learn to shoot like that?"

"I...didn't."

"You shot the fat bloke right between the eyes, Tommy."

"I...I was actually aiming for the body." Tommy said sheepishly. "My intent was to harm and disarm, not kill. I've never, you know, really taken a life before."

Jane never, truly, realized just how close she was to her demise, at the hands of Tommy, no less. She made a mental note never to give Tommy a gun, ever again.

Tommy was almost afraid to ask, though he did. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"How can I?! Father is dead; Frankie is critically injured; Barry, Maura and I spent the past week being hunted like wild game!"

Tommy couldn't argue with that, nor did he want to.

"Whoever ordered this ambush had sensitive information others weren't privy to. You and I both share the same thought and sentiment." Jane gave fair warning. "This does not involve you, Thomas, so you best clear yourself of my path."

"Jane..."

"But remember, no matter what happens, you're my brother, and I love you."

"And I, you, Jane."

"Good. Brace yourself, Tommy, for this won't be pretty."

Hell hath no fury like Jane Clementine Rizzoli.

\- o -

By late afternoon, five carriages rolled into town. News of the Rizzoli's return traveled quick.

Jane flung open the carriage door.

No less than five helpers, along with Maura, carried Frankie into the house.

And there, on the doorstep, was Angela, alongside the rest of the family.

Angela and Jane were locked in a stare down.

Tommy eclipsed Jane, and attempted to quell the tension. "Mother, please, whatever it is, it can wait. Jane is in dire need of rest."

Angela broke away first, and said, "But of course. Please."

The gesture was kind, and the tone was overtly sweet; it was uncharacteristic of Angela. This placed Jane on edge.

"Come, Jane. We'll have the kitchen make you an early supper."

Jane walked right past Angela. She made it up those five steps, when her shrill voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Lawkeep!"

Korsak waited in the back drop until he was cued. This wasn't his idea, nor did he want to. But his hands were tied.

"Have you gone mad, Korsak?!"

Korsak turned Jane around, and placed a pair of iron cuffs on her delicate wrists. "I don't have a choice, Jane. I have a warrant issued by the State for your arrest."

"On what grounds?!"

"The charge is for criminal trespassing. This house belongs to Angela Rizzoli. She's the complainant. "

If Jane's hands weren't restrained, she would squeeze the life out of that vile woman. But she couldn't. "This is entrapment, Korsak!"

"I know. But it's also the law."

"I own everything, including your soul." Angela said sweetly, "Enjoy county prison, Janie."

\- o -

 **A/N: If you use ketchup on your poutine, I will punch you, in the mouth, with a curling iron.**


End file.
